


Under the Covers

by ProsperDemeter



Series: Help I'm Alive [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Being Your Own Hero, Bisexual Peter Parker, Child Abuse, Dread, Friends to Lovers, Gay Harry Osborn, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, May Parker is the Best Mom in the World, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Norman Osborn is not a good father, Norman Osborn's A+ parenting, Pepper Potts is the Ultimate Mom, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Safety isn't as easy as it seems, Slow Burn-ish, Sneaking Around, Will MJ show up? Who knows, please if even mentions of abuse bother you please don't read, teenagers having to deal with hard things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProsperDemeter/pseuds/ProsperDemeter
Summary: "The thing was… Peter needed help.And Harry Osborn was the first to offer it."Peter's identity had been outted and, in need of a safe place to stay, he finds himself at the home of his childhood best friend, and crush, after four years apart.
Relationships: Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Harry Osborn/Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark
Series: Help I'm Alive [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788907
Comments: 155
Kudos: 190





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This just... happened.... 
> 
> Apparently I enjoy writing for different ships 🤷♀️ Who knew?
> 
> Title inspiration from Under the Covers by WALK THE MOON.

The thing was… Peter needed help.  _ Desperately  _ needed help. 

And Harry Osborn was the first to offer it. 

They hadn't seen each other in  _ years.  _ The last time Peter was thirteen, Ben had just died, and Harry had stuttered out an agonized goodbye because, for some reason, Norman Osborn had decided to send him to boarding school. It had been the three of them back then, Peter, Harry and Ned. They had been almost inseparable until Harry said  _ something  _ that made Norman angry enough to send him away. No phone, no social media, no letters in or out. 

It was like Harry never existed save for the tabloids that caught sight of him every now and then. He had been sent overseas, an entire ocean and continent away and Peter was stuck in New York without an uncle  _ and  _ without his best friend. 

But then Spider-Man happened and Tony Stark and that  _ entire  _ mess that ended with him being outed by Quinten Beck and the Daily Bugle and…. 

Peter needed help and  _ Harry _ \- elusive, other worldly, reminder of simpler times  _ Harry  _ \- was the first to offer it. He beat out even May and Happy - got the message through Peter's phone  _ before  _ the flood of texts and questions and seconds before a random person yelled, "He's there!" and the police took chase. 

It was an address and a signature and Peter didn't need much coaxing to set Karen to map it out. His senses were going crazy, warning him at every turn of the very real danger he was now in while simply existing in his own city. There was a target on his back and it was out to cut him down. 

Oscorp was two blocks down from Stark Tower and Peter remembered, when he first started out, swinging by there everyday and hoping, silently, that Harry leaving had just been a cruel joke. Norman Osborn hadn't reached out beyond an expensive bouquet for Ben's funeral. No  _ sorry _ , no  _ hi _ , no  _ how are you holding up _ ? From someone that used to be like another uncle to him it was downright painful to not hear a thing from the man. 

Peter had gotten used to it, had grown to stop expecting  _ three _ tickets to Star Wars and stopped ordering an extra sandwich from Delmars on his way to school because  _ somehow _ Harry always forgot to pack his own. He stopped longing for days spent in an Oscorp lab when he started spending evenings at a Stark Industries one. 

He always kept Harry's number, though.

Just in case. 

He landed on the roof, soft and light. He had gone the long way around - lost the helicopters between buildings and the police cars in traffic. It felt wrong to land there - and it only had a little bit to do with the security team that converged the moment he touched down, not on him (he realized that after they had run  _ around  _ him) but on the edges of the roof. One of them, someone Peter recognized with a jolt (older and grey around the temples but shock haired red everywhere else) gestured him forward impatiently. "Inside, inside before they catch up." 

Peter followed Norman Osborn into the stairway and the door shut with a loud metallic clang behind him. He ripped off his mask almost immediately, the panic he had been feeling compounded into the noise of the security guards outside. He was painfully aware of how Norman was staring at him, cataloging the new angles of his face as the baby fat slowly melted away. Norman's hands danced uselessly in front of him for a moment before reaching out to clamp heavily down on Peter's shoulders. He smiled and Peter was suddenly five years old again, happily receiving praise when Norman caught sight of his notes scrawled on top of Richard Parker's paperwork. "Aren't you the smartest kid in the world?" Norman had said and Peter had preened while his dad came around to his side, pulling Peter back into his legs before Norman could take Peter into his arms for a hug. 

Now, though, Norman's hands reminded Peter of his father's and, before he knew it, he was sagging into a hug even against the scream in his mind. 

Norman's hugs weren't anything like Tony's had been - Norman wasn't a normally affectionate guy but he had always put that aside for Peter and Harry. "You look so much like your mother." Norman said when he pulled away, his older, more weathered hand patting Peter on the cheek. 

Peter hadn't ever really heard that before. May would kiss his head sometimes and tell him how much he reminded her of Ben or Richard. And, aside from her, Peter didn't really have many people that knew his parents once the Osborns were out of his life. 

"Mister Osborn, I-" 

"Norman, Peter, please." 

Norman had never allowed Peter, or anyone, to call him by his first name. He had never been Uncle Norman like Elizabeth Osborn had been Auntie Eliza. Peter had cried when he had come back after the blip and read that she had died of cancer in the five years he had been gone. Then he had cried even more, when he had read in a tabloid that blipped son, Harry Osborn, had been unable to attend the funeral. After it all, after everything Peter had been through, he had allowed himself to cry only for that loss until Europe. 

"I didn't know where else to go." Peter spoke in a rush, suddenly feeling very exposed in the red and blue suit and mask twisting through his hands. 

"You're safe here," Norman's hands on his shoulders squeezed once more and his smile had a twist to it that Peter couldn't place. Perhaps he was seeing Peter's parents in his face - the partners in research that they had once been. 

Peter almost jumped at the slamming door he heard just moments after, only one set of footsteps pounding up after them. Peter twisted the two of them quickly, barely noticing the way Norman's breath left his lungs in impressed shock, so that he stood in front and Norman behind where he could be safe. 

He felt dumb for it moments later. 

Peter was seven when he loudly proclaimed to his parents that he was going to marry Harry Osborn when he was old enough. He had even made him a ring out of starburst wrappers. He hadn't realized what it meant until he was older, fourteen and Harry gone, and Peter had never been particularly attracted to any man besides him since. Seeing him again, though, it all came rushing back like a punch in the gut. His crush on Liz and MJ both felt incredibly childish compared to the way Harry Osborn's familiar face made his heart jump into the pit of his stomach and then up into the top of his throat. 

Harry was  _ ethereal _ . He looked almost nothing like his father - took after Auntie Eliza in every way  _ but  _ his sapphire blue eyes. He had a flop of black hair, a spattering of freckles over his cheeks and nose that Peter knew only came out in the summer, and the plushest pink lips Peter had ever seen. He wanted to hug him tight to his body and never let go. He wanted to grab his face fiercely in his own hands and kiss his lips into a smile. He  _ wanted _ , "Peter!" 

Harry beat him to the hug, arms tightly wrapped around Peter's back and pulling him snug in tight. Peter closed his eyes and nearly dropped his mask to the floor, one hand tangled in tight to the shirt at the small of Harry's back. It was the first feel of safety Peter had felt since Europe, wrapped up in Harry's embrace. They were almost the same height - Harry just an inch taller and waist just a little bit more trim. It was everything Peter had remembered and everything he forgot in one. 

Peter wanted to say so many things that he didn't know where to start. His fingertips trailed along Harry's waist when they finally pulled apart and he opened his mouth - brown eyes cataloging the changes of growing older on Harry's face. Harry's own fingers tapped gently on his jaw, traced the line of his smile and Peter thought,  _ just go for it _ , before Norman spoke up for both of them. "Harry, I told you we'd meet you downstairs." 

Norman had a  _ different  _ voice when he talked to his son. Peter never noticed it before, not until now when a tingle of anxiety shot up the back of his neck and Harry stiffened slightly before taking an almost giant step back. The air between them that had once been warm felt cold now and Peter wasn't sure what to do with his hands now that they had nowhere to rest. "Sorry, Dad." Harry's voice was deeper now - the last time Peter had heard it it was cracking with puberty. The look on his face now was a stark contrast to the smile he had given Peter just moments earlier - quietly chastised and avoiding looking Norman directly in the eye even as he stood with his chin held high. 

"Let's get downstairs, Peter. You're safe here." Norman's hands didn't feel as nice on Peter's back now as he guided Peter down the stairs and past Harry. "Harry, show Peter to his room. I have to talk with security." Norman branched off from them when they arrived in the penthouse. The room felt large and empty compared to the penthouse Tony had let Peter stay in more than a few times when they had stayed up too late in the laboratories. It had more in it, though. It was clear that someone, at least, lived there. The television was paused on a scene in Harry Potter, a rapidly cooling mug of something on a coaster next to the empty couch. 

There were no pictures, Peter noticed. Nothing on the table aside from the tea cup, no video game systems, no awards or personal touches. It was lived in but cold. Even Tony's penthouse had gears strewn on tables, a framed photo of Pepper and Rhodey, and Tony had happily hung up a certificate with Peter's name on it above the fireplace. 

"Come on," Harry spoke softly, toeing out of his shoes in the doorway and jerking his head to the side. "I bet you want to get out of the suit." 

Peter did, he noticed with a start. He had been in it for the better part of the day and he wanted nothing more than to change into a pair of sweatpants and cuddle up with May on the couch. He could do only one of those things, though, and so he followed where Harry led - down a hall, up some stairs, and into a room with the door ajar. 

_ This  _ felt more personal. There was a mess in that room, clothes tossed in a corner, the desk almost completely organized into tiny piles save for the sticky notes placed almost everywhere. It had a television at the foot of the bed, a Playstation collecting dust underneath it, and a haphazard pile of books resting on the floor. 

Peter knew it was Harry's room by the picture he kept beside the open laptop on his desk - Peter would recognize Auntie Eliza anywhere, and he remembered when the picture had been taken. His mother had been the one to take it - they had gone out to Newport in Rhode Island for a week. Auntie Eliza had  _ insisted  _ on a picture in the tulip garden and Harry had obliged only in the way a mommy's boy would. With a big, wide and toothy smile and his mother's arms soft around his neck as she pressed their cheeks together. 

"Harry, I-." Harry shoved an armful of clothes at him and cocked his head to the side and smiled a smile that matched the one in the picture. 

"I missed you." Harry said after a moment of simply gazing at him. "Go, uh, go get changed and we can catch up?" 

"That…" Peter swallowed and hugged the soft clothes tight. "That sounds good." 

He turned to go and stopped in the hallway. He turned back after a moment and knocked softly on the doorway. Harry was still standing where he had left him, a hand pressed softly against his lips and eyes sparkling wide. "I… where do I change?" 

Harry startled, and his hand dropped down to his side. "Right you need to…" 

"Yeah." Peter couldn't help laughing softly. 

Being loud felt wrong in the Osborn house. Ben had refused to leave Peter over there alone when Richard was gone, and Peter only had vague memories of the household. All of them were happier, though, in his memories. Without the ghost of Eliza hanging over them as it was now. 

It must have been hard, for Norman, to lose his son and then his wife not long after. And then to gain only one of them back. Peter didn't have a frame of reference to sympathize, not like he did with Harry. Peter had lost both parents, and then Ben, and then  _ Tony _ . He knew loss on a very personal level, but to not have been able to go to the  _ funeral  _ was something Peter didn't understand. He was lucky, compared to the other survivors of the blip. He hadn't lost May or Ned or MJ. The majority of his friends had blipped with him. 

But he could sympathize. 

The guest bedroom was two down from Harry's - and Peter's was set up with a fireplace and blankets. When Tony had set up a bedroom for Peter at the penthouse he had gone out of his way to outfit it with everything a teenager could need. Norman didn't seem to have put that thought into it, but he had placed a picture of Richard and Mary in lab coats next to the bed. 

Peter sat down heavy on the bed, the sweatpants Harry had loaned a bit too long and the shirt a bit too snug. He thumbed the phone he had hid in the pocket of the suit and chewed at his lip. 78 messages and 23 missed calls. They ranged from May and Ned to Flash and Pepper. He had a slew of voicemails and staring at the screen felt awfully overwhelming in the moment. 

He would  _ have  _ to call someone eventually, Peter wasn't dumb enough to think that there was any way of flying under the radar now. His thumb hovered over Ned's name before sliding over to May. 

If he was going to talk to anyone it would be her. 

May picked up before the phone even rang. "Peter?!" She sounded like she had been crying and it made Peter want to cry himself. He suddenly felt very young and he wanted nothing more than to fall into her comforting arms and let her hide him away from the world that was falling apart. 

Peter stumbled over her name. 

"Baby are you okay?" May sniffled and Peter could hear someone in the background that sounded suspiciously like Happy Hogan. 

How scary it must have been for him to be unmasked on public television. "I'm sorry." Peter spoke into the heel of his hand even as May scrambled to reassure him. 

"No, no, no Peter you did nothing wrong. Where are you? We'll come get you." 

"I'm with Harry." It felt odd to say it out loud.  _ With Harry _ . Peter hadn't been  _ with Harry  _ for years. 

"Harry Osborn?" May was startled and that was fair. So was Peter if he allowed himself to think about it. 

"Yeah, Mister Osborn said that I'm safe here and… and…." And it was the closest to safety that Peter had at the moment. 

"Pepper says you can stay  _ here _ ." 

Stay  _ here.  _ Peter knew where she meant - the lake house upstate saturated with memories of a Tony that Peter had barely known. It was kind of her but the thought of putting her back into the limelight made his stomach twist. "You're okay, though? You're… you're safe?" May asked again, uncertainty creeping into her voice. 

May  _ knew _ Harry and Norman. Her and Ben had worked hard to keep a semblance of normal in Peter’s life after his parents died. Had kept playdates and sent him an hour out of their way for school. May had encouraged their friendship even if Peter remembered how uneasy it seemed to make Ben. It had never been  _ Harry  _ that made Ben uneasy - Peter remembered Ben picking them both up from school and smiling when Harry called him Uncle Ben instead of Mister Parker. "Yeah, yeah. I'm… I'm safe." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "It's… it's not true May. I didn't…."  _ Didn't kill him _ . The words were stuck in his throat and felt almost like a lie when he tried to speak them. Inadvertently he  _ had  _ ended Beck's life, hadn't he? 

Her reassurances fell on his ears, and Peter let them wash over him like a tidal wave. He could almost believe her when she defended him so fiercely. It was half an hour later that she demanded that she speak with Norman and Peter stood to get him at the same time Norman knocked on the open bedroom door. "Mister Osborn! Uh… May wants to talk to you."

It felt like he was at a sleepover and May needed to verify that the host knew how to use an inhaler. Still, Norman took the offered phone with barely a twitch of his smile. "May Parker! It's been too long." He disappeared down the hall and Peter felt naked without it. The reality of the situation he was in was quickly setting into his bones and he wrapped his arms tight around his body and lent back against the wall. 

"You okay?" Harry was leaning against his own doorway, a tense smile on his face and glasses hanging off his nose. 

Those… those were new. 

Harry's cheeks reddened and he kicked his bare feet against the floor. He fingered at the black frames. "Yeah… a teacher noticed I couldn't read the board and…." He shrugged as though that sentence didn't tug at something in Peter's chest. 

It was painfully normal, compared to the rest of what was clawing at Peter's chest. It was suffocating and climbing up his throat too fast so he pushed himself away from the wall and into Harry's personal space with a tight hug. If Harry was startled he didn't show it beyond a small step back. Peter felt his cheek rest against the top of his head and his hands left heat as they drew gentle circles in his back. 

Peter was crying before he knew it, in the doorway of his old friend's bedroom in a house he hadn't stood in since he was thirteen. So much had changed in four years, but Harry had always been good at hugs. It was like going back in time to when things were simpler and the burn in Peter's lungs was from asthma and laughter instead of fear and pain. "You want to hear something funny?" Harry said after a moment. 

"What?" Peter answered without pulling away, his arms tight around Harry's waist and neck respectively and nose pressed against the junction of Harry's shoulder. 

"I didn't even know if you'd get the text." Harry shrugged. "But I guess you never changed your number." 

Peter hadn't. He had actually insisted that Tony get him a phone with the same number when his old one had broken. "Neither did you." Peter huffed a laugh and didn't know how to say that he hadn't changed the number because it used to be Ben's. 

"You wanna watch a movie, Pete?" They pulled away long enough to shuffle into the room and close the door most of the way, Harry's arm slung around his neck. He let Peter pick the movie, his eyes rolling back the way Peter remembered when he picked Star Wars and settled next to him on the bed. 

They talked about nothing of importance all night, Norman only peaking in long enough to hand Peter back his phone and then leave with the hallway light spilling in through the wide open door. 

Peter fell asleep beside his oldest friend and woke up to the credits rolling on the television screen and soft snores he hadn't heard in  _ years  _ beside him. 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone that read, commented, kudoed, and favorited so far - words cannot describe how much it means to me.

Harry took the news that Peter was a crime fighting vigilante surprisingly well compared to everyone else in Peter's life. There was no stuttering, no questioning, and no begging for him to stop. There was just… acceptance. “It’s not really that shocking.” Harry said early in the afternoon that next day, a mug of scalding tea cradled between his hands. They were back in Harry’s bedroom, music playing through computer speakers softly. Peter had strictly banned himself from the internet - social media was running rampant, his name was trending all over the world, and Peter had been sure to give May the personal phone numbers of both Harry and Norman to reach him to avoid using his own too much. 

Peter needed a distraction from the way his life was currently spiralling and Norman had the news playing repeatedly in the background while he worked on something or other for the company. Harry and Peter had eaten breakfast at the table while Norman worked and Peter was awfully relieved to hear that Norman had contacted a lawyer just that morning to consult about the issue. Oscorp was safe, though, Norman assured him with a strong clasp of his shoulder. No one was allowed up into the penthouse except Norman, Harry, and a select few security guards. Norman didn’t even have an assistant. 

Safety didn’t _feel_ safe, though. Peter was gnawing at his nails almost constantly, he was buzzing with nervous energy, and texting May all day from Harry’s phone didn’t do much to ease his ever growing anxiety. Harry had resorted to trying to distract him by asking questions and, somehow, even if they weren’t even _trying_ they got onto the topic of Spider-Man. 

Harry didn’t wear sweatpants, not like Peter did. That was a new development after four years apart - Harry used to wear sweatpants almost all the time. Now, though, he was sitting against his headboard, holding a mug of tea that even Peter considered too warm to hold, and wearing a pair of slim cut dark wash jeans and a polo. Peter considered asking him about it but instead held his tongue. Harry was deliberately vague about the school his father had sent him to, but Peter got the impression it wasn’t one that was known for being relaxed and chill. 

Wordlessly, Harry’s hand closed around Peter’s wrist and pulled his pinkie away from where his teeth were pulling at the nail and he shoved a pencil in its place. “Like of course you’re a superhero,” Harry continued without pause, the small half smile on his face betraying his casual tone. He knew he was providing a distraction and he knew almost every one of Peter’s nervous ticks. They hadn’t changed much over the years, even if the two of them _had_ grown up. “You’re like the nicest person I know.” 

It was enough to make Peter blush, and he looked down to avoid Harry’s piercing gaze. In the matter of a day Peter was aggressively aware that his crush had never actually _gone away_ . His enhancements actually made it _easier_ to be aware of Harry’s every move. Peter knew by the heat of his body where he was all day - which wasn’t hard since the two of them had gone back to being attached at the hip. He memorized the sound of his breathing, cataloged every expression he could and was immensely relieved to see that while so much had changed so much had also stayed the same. Harry had the same smile, the same loud laugh he stifled behind the palm of his hand, and seemingly still knew the best ways to wordlessly comfort Peter. It was as though no time at all had changed while everything had also changed. 

“Why don’t you do art anymore?” Peter was tired of talking about himself, though. He was too wired to be able to handle the conversation the way it was definitely going. First it was talking about how Peter was Spider-Man and next it would be asking _what really happened_ and _so why did this guy want to out you_ and _tell me about Iron Man_ because that was how the conversation always went. 

Harry didn’t wear his glasses during the day, Peter had noticed that during breakfast, but instead wore contacts that made his eyes somehow look wrong. 

He should call Ned, Peter noted absently, or at least text him. Let him know he was safe, tell him to hunker down. But May had assured him that Pepper and Happy were on it and Norman had told Peter that he was _safe_ and even if safety felt _unsafe_ Peter didn’t have a reason _not_ to trust him. But Ned had to be freaking out, and Ned had been another point in their friendship triangle. He had missed Harry too, when he left. Ned had stood next to Peter at Ben’s funeral and had let Peter cry into his too big suit jacket and had cried with him for the loss of an uncle and a friend and… _why didn’t Harry do art anymore?_

It was something Peter had noticed in the light of day when Harry was still snoring softly next to him in little puffs of air. When they were younger Harry’s hands always used to have a splatter of paint on them - May’s refrigerator used to be full of watercolor paintings and charcoal sketches. Harry had been _good_ in the same way Peter was good at science. It had been instinctual and when Peter remembered the Osborn household it was with memories of childhood drawings framed and hung up on the walls. Now, though, there was nothing. The walls no longer had paintings of childhood memories and, instead, were startlingly bare. There wasn’t much of anything on them save for a few vaguely disturbing pictures of grotesque masks in the entryway. 

He wanted to ask about that too, but Harry seemed to avoid the entry room as much as possible. 

Harry, in fact, seemed to avoid _any_ room that wasn’t his own. He went out to the kitchen with Peter for food, used the bathroom farthest from the living room even if there was one much closer to his bedroom, and seemed to prefer the solitude of his own space instead of sharing it with Norman. As far as Peter could remember Norman had never been the _warmest_ father, but Peter never really had a big enough problem with him to outright avoid him. 

It must have been hard, though, to grow close to a man that was always in the office. Peter had been lucky with Ben - Ben worked long hours but always molded it around Peter and May’s schedule. Plus, Ben and May didn’t exactly have a business to run. Tony had always made time, though. But, then again, Tony wasn’t exactly running Stark Industries, Pepper was. And Peter hadn’t spent much time with Pepper beyond dinner once a week with her and Tony. 

“I… Sometimes you just grow out of it.” Harry said the words with a shrug, but it was the _way_ he said it that made Peter frown. 

Art had been a _passion_ . You didn’t just _grow out_ of a passion. He opened his mouth to say as much but Norman interrupted them without a knock. 

That was another thing Peter had noticed in just a day - there wasn’t much _privacy_ in the Osborn household. Harry never closed his door, and Norman never knocked before entering. Not like May did. Not like even _Tony_ had. Peter’s door had a lock on the inside but Harry’s had a lock on the outside. It was a weird architectural flaw but Peter didn’t pay it much heed. 

“Peter,” Harry jerked rather hard, and hissed softly enough not to draw Norman’s attention when the tea spilled over the edge and onto his hand. Peter winced and watched, out of the corner of his eye, as Harry placed the tea on a coaster in front of his television. May would have noticed if Peter spilled _anything_ on himself, but May was a much more attentive parent than even Mrs. Leeds was. “A moment?” Peter stood and stretched his arms above his head - distinctly trying to ignore the way Harry’s breath seemed to hitch at the way Peter’s shirt rode up - and making his way over to where Norman stood. 

Norman didn't stay long in the room, sweeping his hand in front of him for Peter to go first. “Don’t you have homework to be doing, Harry?” Norman said over his shoulder. “You know the rules on music when you’re doing work.” 

“Sorry,” Harry muttered and the music went off in a soft flurry of movement. 

Peter tried not to let it bother him - May was lax in a lot of ways and Tony had _only_ worked with music. Harry _had_ said just that morning that he had an English project that he needed to work on and even Auntie Eliza had been big on doing work _before_ it was due. Harry had never been a procrastinator, not like Peter. 

Norman led him back to the living room, not bothering to pull Harry’s door closed behind him, but kept his voice low almost as though he didn’t want him to hear. Norman’s arm was heavy across his shoulders, not like how Tony’s had been heavy (not _protective_ or _warm_ ). It made something almost sick swirl in Peter’s stomach, but Peter wasn’t feeling much for physical affection at the moment. It felt _too much_ when the majority of the world was out to see him arrested or worse. “Your aunt mentioned that you get anxious easily.” There was nothing wrong with the words, but they made Peter feel queasy. He tapped the pencil Harry had given him against his leg and nodded without looking up. “I thought, perhaps, you would like to work off some of that steam.” 

Norman pressed a button on the television remote and the screen blared to life in front of them. On the screen was a stark white, modern and state of the art laboratory and Peter was confused just for a modicum of a second before Norman continued. “I’m in the process of cleaning this one out. It was… well it was Richard’s personal lab.” 

“You’re…” Tony had never given Peter his own personal lab - but, then again, Tony worked on machines and not biochemistry. Peter had loved working with him - who wouldn’t, he was _Tony Stark_ \- but biochemistry was Peter’s _passion_ . It was like a punch to the gut - suddenly Peter was reminded exactly _why_ he used to dream of working at Oscorp when he was younger. Norman had always said that he had a place there, that if he kept his scores up and graduated with the right degree that Norman would keep a space for him. Peter had _forgotten_ after the bite - he had avoided the building like it was what had gotten him sick after that one decathlon meet that Oscorp had hosted. 

Peter used to _play_ in that lab on the screen. Peter used to play with the chemical molecule models that Richard Parker had kept on his desk while his dad worked. He had _dreamed_ that that lab would his one day - that _he_ would be wearing a crisp white lab coat with the Oscorp logo stitched on the left shoulder. 

His dreams hadn’t changed, not exactly, but he had _forgotten_ how much he had wanted that particular one. His life had become so complicated so quick and the name Oscorp had turned into a poison on his tongue that only reminded him of pain and spiders and how he had ended up where he was. “You’d be under supervision, of course.” Norman continued, his ice blue eyes piecing into the side of Peter’s face. “You’re not an adult yet so I can’t exactly give you free reign of a lab. But if you’re anything like your father, which I know you are,” Norman shook his shoulder, just a little. “Then the best way to help your anxiety is to create something.” 

To _tinker_ . It was how Tony had dealt with his stress too and Peter had never really thought of how much that had reminded him of his father until Norman said it. Norman Osborn and Richard Parker had met through Peter’s mother - Mary - back in college. They had all been young, all had been _friends_ once upon a time. Norman had always gotten along better with Mary than he had Richard, but he had said before, when Peter was younger, how much he admired the way Richard’s mind worked through problems until he found a solution. “Mister Osborn, I can’t… I can’t accept this.” 

“Call me Norman,” Norman reminded him. It went against everything Peter had been taught - Norman hadn’t even allowed Harry to call him _dad_ until he was six and even then it was because Auntie Eliza had insisted. “And you can and will accept this.” Norman spun him around, his hands heavy where they sat on Peter’s shoulders, fingers digging in tight to the skin beside his neck. “I told you that you always have a place here, Peter. I’m only sorry it took me this long to offer it.” 

Peter had a feeling that Norman wouldn’t take a no for an answer and wisely accepted the gift even if it made him feel sick. It was odd, Peter thought, he never had a problem accepting a gift from Tony - it never made him feel like he was doing something wrong. Then again, Tony hadn’t ignored him for four years and then swooped in to be a savior like Norman was. _Stay on guard_ , his mind was telling him, even if his heart was telling him that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. “Thank you.” Peter decided not to use a name at all, in fear of being corrected again. 

Calling him _Norman_ just felt weird, but he obviously didn’t like being called Mister Osborn. 

“It should be done being cleaned out in the next few days.” Norman continued with a big, bright smile that showed every one of his teeth. 

“Cool.” Peter rocked back on his heels, deliberately stuffing his hands in the sweatpants that Harry had lent him and avoided eye contact as Norman just stood there and smiled. Was he dismissed? Was he even _allowed_ to go back into Harry’s room if he had homework to do? Peter didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. 

“How did you get your powers, Peter?” Norman asked with a cock of his head. 

The question caught Peter off guard. Tony had asked him the same question, once, and when Peter had mentioned Oscorp he had grown pale rather quickly. May hadn’t ever really asked and Ned had only remembered the decathlon meet too well to question beyond the location. Tony hadn’t been quiet on his dislike for Oscorp - unethical, he had called them one day in the lab. Peter had pursed his lips and pretended it didn’t bother him when it clearly did. But, now, when the question was posed he found himself shrugging and making up a story of just getting sick one day and waking up the next with his enhancements. 

If Norman didn’t believe him he didn’t push, instead humming and leaning down to pick up a yellow pad of paper. “We have a virtual meeting with your lawyer on Monday.” Norman said after a moment, when Peter didn’t make to leave the room. “Ms. Potts insisted on having one of her own be present so you can expect two different legal teams.” 

“Mrs. Stark.” Peter corrected without thinking. It had become a habit to him in the past year. Pepper had married Tony and Peter didn’t particularly enjoy the way people said her maiden name as though it made her less qualified for the position she held. He didn’t know Pepper all too well, but he knew what Tony used to tell him about her and he held a special sort of respect for the woman that had married his mentor. 

“What?” Norman spoke absentmindedly. “Yes, of course.” 

Peter tapped his fingers against his leg and looked around the full, yet empty room again. He could see, now, standing in that room with just Norman as company, why Harry preferred to stay in his own room. “Can I… can I go call May?” Peter asked even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to call May. 

Norman didn’t say yes or no, but instead just waved a hand in a motion Peter had seen enough times to know he was being dismissed. He didn’t breathe out a sigh of relief until he was out of the room and he took a moment to simply hang his head in the hallway and roll his shoulders. Why was he so tense? Norman wasn’t anyone to be afraid of. _Harmless_ , he told himself. “Oh, and Peter?” Norman called him back and Peter turned around to see Norman sitting on the leather couch, staring at the laboratory on the screen like it held something precious. 

“Yes, Mister Osborn?” 

“I won’t have Harry’s grades slipping just because you’re staying here.” The way he said it made something cold clench at Peter’s stomach. “I don’t want you two sharing a bed again. I allowed it last night because you clearly needed the comfort, but no more. You’re both almost adults now and this isn’t a sleepover.” 

“Y… yes Mister Osborn.” 

“It’s not you that I’m worried about, Peter.” Norman finally looked up at him and, for an odd reason, those words made Peter feel more sick than he had before. What exactly did that mean? Harry had always been a good student when they were younger - he had maintained an incredible GPA and, sure, he hadn’t been first in their classes but he had always brought home grades to be proud of. Harry had tested into Midtown, too, but Norman had pulled him after six months. He had been struggling, but Peter didn’t remember Harry’s grades dropping significantly. Midtown was a tough school and Harry had never been a fan of science or math like Peter or Ned were. He had done decently, though. “Harry has a habit of getting… distracted. Especially where you’re involved.” 

Peter swallowed past the coil in his stomach and nodded. “Of course, Mister Osborn.” 

* * *

That night was marginally different than the one before it. Norman wasn’t home for dinner, so Peter and Harry had camped out on Harry’s bed with takeout containers between the two of them. Peter hadn’t brought up what Norman had said earlier, but he had made sure to bid Harry goodnight at nine and went to sleep in the empty guest bedroom. There was a pencil sketch left on this desk, though, a comic strip of a cloud and a snake that Peter remembered all too well that Harry had made back in middle school. The drawing had gotten much more intricate and was _new_ \- “even a cloud has to get a little grey sometimes”, the caption said. The picture had him smiling even against the sudden burn of tears behind his eyes. He stayed up longer than he meant to, staring up at the ceiling and fell asleep with a restless worry deep in his gut. 

He woke up almost abruptly to the sound of yelling coming from just rooms down. He went to investigate, Harry’s phone clenched in his hand - Harry had insisted he keep it with him (“I can always get another,” Harry had said with a laugh, “Just in case you want to talk to anyone.”). Peter stopped with his hand on the doorknob, though. They were obviously trying to be quiet, but with Peter’s enhanced hearing it still sounded as though they were directly outside of his door. Peter _hated_ yelling. He used to not like it much when he was a child - Mary and Richard never really got into big shouting matches so when he _heard_ one it used to set him off - and with the enhanced hearing Peter hated it even more. “I _thought_ I said no more of this!” Norman was yelling. It was midnight, Peter noted with a frown. “Are you going to be an _artist_ when you’re older!” 

“It was just a stupid drawing.” Harry’s voice was softer, cautious and cowed. 

Peter had never heard him like that and, instantly he didn’t like it. “You have a _responsibility_ , Harold.” Norman hissed. “And I will not see you throwing your life away to be some _bohemian._ Not my son.” 

“It won’t happen again.” 

Peter wondered what brought it on, he wondered what Norman had against Harry doing something that so clearly brought him joy. He wondered, in a dark place in his mind, if this was how Norman always spoke to his son. What that meant Peter wasn’t sure but, still, he flinched with the way Harry’s voice got intentionally louder with a broken cry of “Dad, _please_ ,” before the fireplace in the living room seemed to flare like something had just been tossed onto it. 

The picture Harry had left for him was gone, Peter noticed after finally pushing away from the door and something heavy like a rock settled deep in his stomach. 

_Safe,_ Peter thought against the rising dread. Safety didn’t _feel_ much like safe.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing this story so much though, guys you don't understand.

Now that Peter was paying attention it was hard to  _ not _ notice a night where Norman and Harry didn’t fight. They weren’t particularly loud about it, but it was almost as though they waited until Peter’s door closed to tear at each other’s throats. Peter wondered, idly, if it was something that had always happened. If they had always clashed this hard and viciously. He knew that it was pretty common for teenagers to fight with their parents - he had heard Ned rant about fights with his mother one too many times, and every now and then even found himself arguing with May about something simple. Listening to the endless tirade of  _ not good enough _ was enough to cause Peter worry, though. 

The unease didn’t fade. 

Norman kept the two of them apart, it seemed. It was a painful reminder that Peter wasn’t there for a sleepover and, instead, was only staying with them because he had nowhere else to go. He spent the majority of his time during the weekend stuffed into the guest room and staring at the ceiling. Harry had work to do, apparently, and Peter only really got to see him during dinner time. 

Sunday was silent compared to the other nights - there weren’t any fights, no cutting words Peter could hear hissed through clenched teeth. That was good, Peter thought. They were just like any other parent and teenager duo - butting heads at every turn and opinion. 

Until he woke up Monday morning to the smell of a fresh pot of coffee, stumbled out of his bedroom and into the bathroom with a hand stifling a yawn so wide it made his jaw crack. He passed Harry’s open doorway on the way and caught, with a flash of nervous apprehension, a patch of blue against the back of his forearm. Peter blamed it on the early morning that he didn’t recognize it for what it was until he was seated at the table with a glass of orange juice beside a mug of coffee that he wouldn’t touch but Norman insisted on pouring anyway. “I have to go into the office today,” Norman said, straightening his pinstripe tie at the head of the table. 

As Peter usually found himself, he was incredibly aware of exactly where Harry was standing in front of the counter with yet another steaming mug of tea in his hands. Norman, it seemed, had made a feast before the two of them had woken up but Peter noticed that Harry hadn’t touched any of it. There was certainly too much on the table for  _ Peter _ to eat, even with his enhanced metabolism. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” Norman said while Harry stared at the liquid swirling in his mug. Peter smiled the closed lipped fake smile he had always had when Norman looked at him instead. “You can use the credit card for food.” 

It was probably the most  _ normal _ Peter had ever heard Norman Osborn. For some reason, it was unsettling. It seemed to go against everything Peter had gotten used to in the last four days - gone was the almost psychotic look in his eyes and in its place was a  _ guilt _ that Peter couldn’t particularly name. He figured it made sense, May always looked guilty after she had yelled at Peter (even  _ if _ he deserved it). Perhaps Norman also felt bad for the harsh words of the previous nights. 

It was hard not to catalog, though, the way Harry seemed to flinch just barely when Norman rounded the table to press a hard kiss to the top of his head. Peter tried not to worry, tried not to think too much into it, but all he could see in the flinch was the bruise that was painting his old friend’s arm underneath the long sleeve shirt he was wearing. 

It was too warm for a henley, but there Harry was, wearing one anyway. 

Maybe he ran cold, Peter thought. Or maybe he was trying to keep Peter from noticing the bruise that had caught his eye early that morning. Either way, once the door closed and the lock clicked behind Norman it was as though a switch was flipped. Harry’s shoulders dropped from where they had been sitting hunched by his ears, his hand snagged a piece of toast and he sat down fluidly in the chair beside Peter’s. Their knees banged underneath the table and they were silent as they ate. 

A million questions floated through Peter’s mind and it wasn’t often he found himself unable to voice them. He always had a quip, a comment, or a concern. Now, though, the food in front of him sat bland and untouched and simply made his stomach roll more at the thought of what it was actually meant for. 

His health class at Midtown had gone over signs of abuse back in sophomore year and a thread in Peter’s mind was  _ screaming  _ at him for not noticing it sooner. He wondered if Norman had done it when they were younger - had he always been so cruel? So quick to anger? 

It was a dangerous line of thought, to think that Norman had  _ done _ anything - even anything unintentional. Words were one thing but…. He pushed his plate away and hoped it would go unnoticed. 

Of course it didn’t. 

How could it? After four years Harry still knew him better than he knew himself. “You alright there, Spider-Man?” He said it was a teasing glint in his eyes that almost had Peter reaching across the table to kiss the smirk off his face. 

Did he have any idea how absolutely gone for him Peter was? 

After that first day Peter and Harry hadn’t had much time to talk about the identity reveal - or even  _ talk _ at all without Norman butting in. It didn’t feel wrong coming from Harry the way it did coming from the news casters. It was a jibe, kind ribbing and just the sort of thing Peter wished he could fall into conversation with. 

Only, Peter had never been good at ignoring problems. Call it a character flaw, but Ben had always told him that it was better to confront an issue when it first appeared rather than let it grow and fester. 

There wasn’t exactly a  _ how to _ book on asking your best friend if his father abused him, though. He opened his mouth to just ask it but Harry beat him to words, long, elegant fingers playing with the string of his tea bag. “Dad keeps forgetting I don’t eat meat.” 

Peter blinked and recognized it as the side-step in conversation Harry meant it to be. He didn’t want to talk about what Peter obviously wanted to - or at least he didn’t want to talk about it the  _ way _ Peter was going to. Harry was never one for  _ blunt _ , not like Peter was. 

The fact that Harry hadn’t touched anything other than toast made more sense, after that nugget of information was said, though. Norman had cooked a great deal of sausage and bacon and only a small pile of toast. Peter thought about letting it be the excuse Harry obviously meant it to be - thought about letting him slide with it - perhaps this was a one off problem. Perhaps Harry had simply walked into one of the many sharp edges of the Osborn household. 

Except May had always told Peter that there was never an excuse for a parent to lay a hand that wasn’t out of love on their child.  _ Once is too much _ , she had said. He didn’t remember what had brought it on - but he remembered the conversation. He wished May was there now, or even Ned to crack a helpful joke. Or, hell, even Tony who would understand Harry in a way Peter couldn’t ever hope to. “Harry,” Peter said his name and it tasted like something Peter wasn’t allowed to have. Harry hummed in response, but didn’t look up. 

He knew it was coming then. 

Peter wondered how many people had asked him before or, objectively worse, how many people  _ hadn’t _ noticed what was going on. “Harry, how’d you get that bruise?” He asked it with a tight grip on his orange juice. He asked it with a cold palm and big brown eyes searching the side of Harry’s face from where he sat next to him and was almost shocked by the fact that Harry’s face gave nothing away. 

Harry swallowed a bit of his tea after a long moment of silence and Peter didn’t like how  _ normal _ it looked. His hands didn’t shake, his eyes didn’t water, and his tongue didn’t run over his lips. Had Harry’s tells changed in the years they were apart? Peter hadn’t thought they  _ had _ . His hadn’t. “What bruise?” Harry said only after swallowing. 

“I saw it earlier.” 

“I’m okay,” the half smile on his face would have been convincing to anyone that  _ wasn’t _ Peter. Peter who grew up with him, Peter who learned that smile the way he learned his own. 

“So it doesn’t hurt if I touch it?” He was being obnoxious, Peter knew that, still Harry tensed when Peter’s fingers so much as brushed over where the purpling of his skin was hiding under fabric. “ _ Harry _ come on.” 

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like begging, but still it came out that way. He thought about closing his hand around Harry’s wrist and squeezing until blue eyes caught brown. “Dad’s going to ask you to sign a paper this week.” Harry said instead, swirling his finger around the edge of his mug. “Don’t sign it.” 

Peter felt almost irrationally angry at the change in conversation, but he wasn’t sure who he was more angry at - himself, Harry, or Norman Osborn. Peter wasn’t known for being a stubborn boy, he gave in to others way too easily most of the time, and liked to shrug his shoulders until problems fell off. “You’re not quiet, you know.” Peter wasn’t ever deliberately cruel, he didn’t like what anger did to someone, didn’t enjoy watching the way a smile fell from the curve of a mouth and he  _ really _ didn’t like watching it happen to Harry. “When you fight.” 

Peter heard every second of Harry’s slow, measured breathing run passed his lips and head ducked down over the table, chin into chest. “He doesn’t try to be.” Harry said to the table and Peter,  _ finally _ , reached out a hand to brush fingertips against the skin of Harry’s hand. 

“Does… are…” Confronted with the fact that Harry wasn’t hiding it anymore, Peter found it incredibly hard to think of the words to say. 

He was a  _ hero _ wasn’t he? He dressed up in a costume and fought bad guys. Or, well, he used to. Lately, he had been part of the problem, hadn’t he? “He doesn’t usually…” Harry pursed his lips, looked up towards the sky, and plastered on a smile so fake it hurt Peter to look at. The media smile. 

When they were younger they had sat in front of Peter’s mirror on the carpet and made up so many different smiles it felt ridiculous at the time. Peter had been there when Harry perfectly crafted the smile that was posted on social media and across the tabloids weekly.  _ Fake, fake, fake _ , it said. Harry’s real smile was wide and toothy and lit up his eyes so they looked like a sparkling ocean. Blue eyes and freckles - the only things Harry had gotten from Norman excluding a short temper. “You wanna go to the roof?” 

“What?” Peter blinked and it was as though they were ten again, Harry tugging excitedly on his hand as they raced after kites that floated up above them in the clear blue sky. They stopped long enough at the back door for Peter to slip into his shoes before Harry was pushing up the metal stairs. Harry still wasn’t wearing shoes, Peter noticed with a start. Was still running barefoot up after him. 

Peter knew it was daylight, but the sunlight still shocked him. There wasn’t security up there, not like the day Peter had touched down on Oscorp, but Peter knew they were being watched even if he couldn’t pinpoint from where. “Mom  _ hated _ the penthouse, you know.” Harry said from where he had walked ahead of Peter, feet stepping backwards while he held up a hand to shade his eyes from the sun Peter could feel on the back of his neck. “She preferred our house in Maine. Said New York was too  _ loud _ and busy.” 

“I remember.” Peter remembered - Auntie Eliza used to go on rants about it if she had enough wine and Norman wasn’t around. She was from the countryside and she missed it dearly - she used to regale them with tales of mermaids and pirates that she said would come and visit her coastal town. “Harry… I’m sorry I missed her funeral.” 

Harry laughed bitterly but shrugged all the same. “Hey, one for one.” It felt like Peter was swallowing fire as Harry kept moving backwards and closer to the edge. 

“It’s not-.” 

“I missed Ben’s.” Harry cut him off with a look and Peter pressed his lips together tight to keep from protesting more. “And, hey, mom wouldn’t have wanted any of us there anyway.” 

“Do you think,” Harry said after a moment, stumbling over his own two feet just enough that Peter lunged forward to grab his arm. “Do you think mom was relieved to go? Like she wouldn’t have had to stay  _ here _ anymore.” 

“I think she missed you.”  _ I missed you _ . 

“Well who wouldn’t, Parker, I’m a fucking ray of sunshine.” 

_ That _ , Peter thought, was the Harry he remembered so vividly in his mind. The bravado and false ego. The wink and smirk that took his breath away. 

The Harry that would jump up on the ledge of a skyscraper, though, was  _ not _ the Harry he remembered. Harry stood with his arms outstretched wide and head tipped back. “Harry, get down from there!” Peter felt like his heart had jumped up into his throat, and he tugged as gently as he could on the leg of Harry’s jeans. 

His friend glanced down, all blue eyes that matched the sky and white teeth. “Join me?” 

It was tempting. Oddly enough, pre-spiderbite Peter probably would have said yes and enthusiastically climbed up to tempt death. Now, though, all Peter could see was a bruise on the back of his friend’s arm covered by a grey shirt, a smile that seemed just a little too forced, and a wide open stance that told Peter that this wasn’t the first time he had stood up there like this. “You’re going to fall.” Peter tugged once more, a little bit more force used. 

Harry rolled his eyes and shook off his hand, stepping to the side - still backwards - and seemingly unaware of how each step he took made Peter want nothing more than to grab him and pull him back down. “You scared, Parker?” 

It was a  _ tease _ and horrendously annoying. “I’m sorry I don’t want you to die.” 

“You’ll catch me won’t you, Spider-Man? If I fall?” 

It was a loaded question even if Harry hadn’t meant it to be. Peter had already fallen  _ hard _ for him - had done that ages ago, back when Harry had picked him dandelions and called them flowers and put one in his hair. “Yeah, of course, I would.” Peter’s breath caught when Harry smiled - the  _ real _ smile (the sparkling eyes and hair catching in the wind and freckles out on display dancing across his cheeks when they pulled up) and simultaneously stopped all together when Harry stepped just a bit too far back and his foot hovered over nothing for a moment longer than Peter liked. “Though I’d rather  _ not _ , asshole.” He said once Harry stabilized and laughed at the look on his face - louder than the chuckles or huffs of breath Harry let out near Norman. 

Peter kept his hands out, though, timed his breath to each step Harry took and walked alongside him. 

They didn’t say much, but Peter appreciated the clarity of the air around them even  _ if _ Harry was being reckless. “Mom always liked the view, though.” Harry interrupted and stepped to turn back around when his foot slipped. 

Peter saw it happen in almost slow motion, the way his bare foot scraped against the pavement and shot down passed the roof. He watched as Harry’s knee buckled and hands flew out to stabilize and  _ grabbed _ him quickly around his waist. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Harry’s breath brushed against his lips and, trapped this close, Peter could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He breathed in and  _ Harry _ came with his breath, sharp and strong and tingling on the tip of his tongue. 

Peter was fixated on his lips, on the feel of his chest rising and falling with each breath that passed his parted mouth and couldn’t help the sharp inhale as Harry’s tongue darted out to trace his lips. He flicked his eyes up, just a moment, before shutting them completely. 

Peter  _ had _ kissed before. He had kissed Liz back at homecoming, kissed MJ in London and then a few times afterwards. But kissing  _ Harry _ was like tasting his favorite piece of chocolate for the first time. It was far from perfect, their noses bumped together before he turned his head, and Harry’s fingers were cold against the skin of his neck. Nothing had ever felt so  _ right  _ though. It was as though Peter couldn’t believe that they hadn’t done this  _ before _ . How could he have gone his entire life with those lips sitting next to him and  _ not _ kissed them? How could he have heard words pouring out of that mouth and  _ not _ felt that same tongue run against his own? How could he have hugged the same body and  _ not _ trailed fingers over a waistband of jeans? How could he have felt Harry’s skin and not known what it tasted like? 

The wind bit into his cheeks but with Harry’s tongue pushed against his lips it was almost like it didn’t matter. Nothing  _ mattered _ so long as he could have this moment forever. 

And, for the first time in days, the unease settled into the back of his mind and faded into something that felt like joy. 


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel oh so very iffy about this chapter and I'm not sure why.

It was exponentially harder to concentrate on legal jargon he didn’t understand after kissing one Harry Osborn. As a scientist Peter felt he should have known and prepared for that. Inside, his unease over his current situation warred with his ecstatic nerves and, more than once, Peter felt his cheeks both warm and then flush as his mind shot from one thought to the next. His pen was tapping against the table in a way he was sure was annoying - fast one moment and then slow and measured the next. He hoped that the lawyers chalked it up to nerves. He hoped  _ Norman _ thought it was just nerves. 

Peter was ignoring a lot sitting next to Norman. His skin itched with an urge to grab the older man and throw him out the fifty story window.  _ It won’t happen again _ , Harry had finally said with swollen red lips and eyes avoiding Peter’s hours before Norman had come back home. Harry was very convincing - Peter wondered if he could fool even himself. Once was too much, Peter had wanted to say. Let me help you, he had wanted to beg. How could he help, though? He was seventeen and a superhero - yes - but he was also  _ seventeen _ and just had his identity revealed to the entire world. 

On the other hand, the world already thought Peter was a murderer. 

The Tony in Peter’s mind widened his eyes in a way meant to remind Peter that  _ that _ wasn’t a good idea and Peter tired, so very hard, to listen to what the two sharply dressed lawyers were telling him. Norman was humming and nodding at all the correct places, but Peter had always been bad at not expressing when he was bored. He had gotten better at it - the older he got - but his mind had a tendency to wander. 

Pepper’s lawyer was nicer and, honestly, Peter wasn’t even sure  _ why _ he was needed at the meeting. The two lawyers seemed to be doing most of the talking and a lot of it centered around the idea of whether Peter had the autonomy to choose to do something. They were all being noticeably cagey about what exactly that something was - and, if they weren’t, then Peter didn’t understand what they were saying to him anyway. No one had spoken much to him aside from Norman or Pepper’s lawyer when they started. 

Harry had snapped back into who he was  _ before  _ Norman left for work earlier so quickly that it had thrown Peter for a loop. There hadn’t been much time to register the change - one moment Harry was laughing loud and smiling wide and rolling up his sleeves so Peter could rub bruise cream onto the purpling mark that painted the back of his arm. The next moment Norman was walking through the door, Harry was pulling his sleeve down sharply and that carefully crafted marble mask was settling over his face. He had sat with a good six inches of distance between him and Peter, had straightened his clothes and obediently listened when Norman spoke about board meetings and monthly numbers as though he were actually interested out of something other than fear. 

Perhaps Peter had overstepped on the roof. But Harry had  _ kissed back _ . That had to mean something right? Almost absentmindedly, Peter tapped the top of the pen against his lips. He could still feel Harry’s mouth on his - could still taste the way his breath stuttered in time with Peter’s. It had been  _ hours _ but Peter couldn’t forget that intensity. 

He hadn’t even known that Harry liked boys. 

Oh god, he hadn’t even asked. 

“Peter,” Norman’s hand patted him square between the shoulder blades and Peter’s attention was pulled, quickly, away from the swoop of his stomach. “Were you listening?” 

The lawyers were looking towards him too, both with pursed lips. Peter’s cheeks heated and he looked away quickly noticing for the first time the paper that had been slid in front of him. The words swam across the paper and Peter thought he only saw the way Harry’s fingers had trembled around the rim of his mug just that morning. “I… Of course.” 

If either of the lawyers didn’t believe him they didn’t say anything, merely raised eyebrows. Norman’s smile looked painful from where it pulled against his cheeks. It was too wide. Whoever Norman had been that morning he was back to the Norman that had given Peter a laboratory and told him stories of his parents.

Peter wasn’t sure which Norman Osborn he preferred. 

Both of them were responsible for causing his own son harm. 

Had Norman once hurt Auntie Eliza? 

_ Do you think she was happy to be gone _ , Harry had asked. 

Had  _ she _ known what Norman had done to their son? Had Norman done it when she was still alive to stop him or did she let him do it? 

Was he a danger to Peter? That was what his instincts seemed to want him to ask even if it made something selfish and angry coil in his chest. What did it matter if he was safe for Peter but dangerous to Harry? Was Peter’s life, ultimately, more important than Harry’s? Peter didn’t think so, but he knew too many people that would shepherd him out and leave Harry behind. 

“What are you waiting on then, Pete?” Peter didn’t like the way Norman said his name. It was hard to pinpoint  _ why _ , but it seemed to curl menacingly around the tip of the other man’s tongue. 

Peter looked back down at the paper and the words swam. 

_ He’s going to ask you to sign something. Don’t.  _

He swallowed hard and thought that, in that room, he was surrounded by sharks. Norman had refused to let Pepper in herself, May had told him. He had sighting something about it being unsafe. Peter was thankful, even if he also wished she were there. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if Morgan lost  _ both _ parents because of him. 

It would be easier to sign than think up an excuse to not. He had been paying attention to the entire meeting, wasn’t he? 

Still, he didn’t move to put pen to paper, even when Norman’s smile faded into something more strained than real. His eyes took on a dangerous glint and Peter thought, then, that  _ that _ was the man that made Harry flinch away from his touch. Peter swallowed his words and faked a smile. “I… don’t really feel that good.” 

It was an old excuse, something that made  _ Peter _ flinch with a memory he would rather forget and suddenly his stomach  _ was  _ rolling. Suddenly he was back on Titan with an atmosphere just a bit too heavy and red sand kicking up dust into the air and feeling his body turn to ash even as it fought to stitch itself back together. His world narrowed down to the tip of the pen, to Tony’s hands on his body lowering him to the ground, and his voice saying  _ you’re okay  _ like a prayer to a God Peter wasn’t sure even existed. 

And then he was walking by Harry’s room and seeing, instead of a bruise, a body laying on the bed with copper surrounding him against light blue sheets the color of his eyes and  _ Ben _ falling from a plane and Peter was  _ too slow always too slow-.  _

“Whoa there.” Norman’s hand was grounding even if Peter didn’t want it to be, and it pushed him almost too gently for someone that willingly caused his son harm. Peter went with it anyway, let Norman fold him in half so that his face was between his legs and rub at his back. He let the lawyer Pepper had hired grab the pen from his hand and crumple up the paper that had been left on the table. 

“We’ll do this another time.” The lawyer said almost pointedly before walking out as Peter fought for a steady string to grab hold of in a world that wouldn’t stop swinging out of view. 

He looked down at his hands and saw only blood.  _ Ben’s  _ blood,  _ Tony’s  _ blood…. “Take a deep breath, Peter.” Norman’s hands were on his back and his voice was coming from in front of Peter even as his heart raced against his ribs. “You’re safe here.” 

_ Safe _ . 

He wondered if Norman knew that Peter had gotten his enhancements by sneaking off during a field trip to try and find Harry. He wondered if Norman had even known Peter was in the building that day or if he hadn’t deemed that information necessary. Where had Harry been then?  _ Why had Norman sent him away? _

Peter wanted to laugh in his face. It was a lie, wasn’t it? Peter wasn’t  _ safe _ . 

It was almost a sobering thought and it almost slammed Peter back into his body. Unfortunately, Peter had about as much experience as being  _ unsafe _ as he did being safe. He knew how to handle it - knew what to expect. 

Only…. 

Well, was  _ Harry _ safe? Which one of them was in the worst danger? 

“Are you okay, Peter?” Norman kept saying his name as though it was going to make him sound more human. Peter sucked in a breath and blew it out in an unsteady stream. 

No, he wasn’t okay. 

But he could panic later. 

“Yeah,” Peter reached up and squeezed Norman’s wrist - perhaps a little too tightly - and smiled a smile that felt fake even to him. 

Peter had never been much of an actor, but apparently he was good enough to fool Norman who smiled back with a kind expression that Peter wanted to punch off his face. 

What danger was Norman Osborn to Peter? 

Peter had faced off against scarier. 

He could get them out. 

* * *

Harry kept his distance from the time Peter and Norman got back from the meeting with the lawyers until the time Harry bid the two of them goodnight. Peter wondered if Norman knew what Peter was doing - staying up until he was sure Harry  _ and _ Norman were asleep. But, if he did, he didn’t make any mention of it. He thought about falling asleep in the living room - spaces between both and, instead, stumbled his way into the hallway. 

Harry’s door was open - just the way Norman insisted it should be - but the bed was empty when Peter peaked in. 

Panic seized at his throat. 

Had Norman…? 

A hand snagged his wrist and pulled him backwards and into the guest room. Peter spun around quickly, breaking the grip and shifting his stance so whoever had meant to grab him was, instead, at his mercy. His hands hit the wood of the door almost loud enough to echo and Peter thought, for a moment, that it was Norman that had pulled him aside before he registered the black hair. “ _ Christ _ , Harry don’t do that!” Peter hissed. 

Harry slapped a hand over Peter’s mouth and  _ waited _ . For what Peter wasn’t sure, but it was only after a minute of silence that he allowed it to drop, fingertips lingering just a moment longer on Peter’s bottom lip before curling over his shirt collar like a promise. 

Maybe Peter hadn’t over stepped, then. 

Harry Osborn was  _ confusing _ . That was a fact that Peter had always known. Harry had  _ always _ been confusing. “Sorry.” Harry shrugged in the way that told Peter he very much  _ was not _ sorry and his lips carved a path up his cheeks. “Shouldn’t sneak up on a superhero, huh?” 

Peter sputtered before pushing away from the door. 

Harry pulled him back by a strong fisted grip on his collar. 

He could have stopped him, Peter knew that, but instead, he let himself get reeled back inwards. He welcomed the bruising kiss like he welcomed air. Harry kissed as though he had nothing more to give than that very moment. He kissed like he had done everything else Peter had ever seen him do - with full conviction and dedication. He was better at it than Peter was, but that wasn't surprising when Peter thought about it. Who wouldn't have jumped at the chance to kiss Harry Osborn? Kissing was an art, Peter had read somewhere. And Harry had always  _ excelled  _ at art. 

He certainly  _ felt _ like art, even pressed up against a door. He didn't have the curves MJ or Liz boasted, but Peter found he didn't mind. He could press closer this way, could  _ feel _ the way Harry's chest heaved with breath when he pulled in closer. “Wait, wait.” Peter planted a hand firm on Harry’s stomach and pulled away. It took more strength than Peter thought it would to not dive back in for more with the way Harry’s pupils were blown wide and lips painted red. 

It was as natural as being friends with him, Peter thought. The next step in an already life long relationship. “I didn’t even know you…” He trailed off. The sentence seemed insensitive to Peter -  _ he  _ didn’t particularly enjoy it when someone assumed his sexuality simply because he had only dated women. It wasn’t a fair question. Harry, obviously, liked him if he was kissing him with as much  _ passion _ as he had just been. 

Harry tipped his head back with a sigh and scrubbed a hand down his face. Peter was intensely aware of when his fingers dropped atop the hand Peter had resting on his stomach. Harry had naturally tanned skin, Peter noticed with a passing thought, just another way he took after his mother. “I’ve always…” Harry stopped himself before he said anything more and Peter got it even if the words weren’t spoken. 

He smoothed his hand around to Harry’s hip before stepping back in close enough for their chests to touch. He had to raise his chin, a little, to brush his lips against Harry’s in a much more gentle kiss than they had shared yet. Peter thought about telling him about the dreams he used to have about the two of them, he thought about begging him to tell him  _ why _ they had waited so long to do something about it if they were both yearning the way he had been. Instead he found himself asking something else entirely. “Why did you leave?” 

The question caught them both off guard because Peter  _ knew  _ it hadn’t been a choice. Harry had tried to pretend that it was even when they were thirteen and he had cried his way through a goodbye, suitcases already packed back at home. Harry’s tongue ran between his lips and Peter nudged his cheek with his nose. He didn’t have to answer, Peter would have let him get away with anything if he were being honest. He would give Harry anything he wanted as long he kept his hand over his and kept him reeled in. 

Still, Harry answered, honest in the way he had only ever been with Peter. He answered with his eyes looking anywhere but at Peter’s face and fingers tapping a rhythm against Peter’s wrist. “Do you remember that pride meeting we went to back in like freshman year?” 

“Of course.” It had been the three of them back then, Peter, Ned, and Harry - just as it always tended to be. They had gone because Peter had expressed the want to and sat at a table off to the left while the upperclassmen went over introductions and expectations for the coming year. They had all left with a rubber rainbow bracelet and Peter had proudly worn his home. 

Harry hadn’t been wearing his at the end of the school day. “Well… it got me thinking…” It had gotten Peter thinking too. Thinking about how he had said when he was six with conviction that he was going to marry Harry even if their parents told them not to. “And I guess I realized some stuff.” Harry shrugged like it was nothing. 

“Me too.” Peter said only because he wasn’t sure what else to say. 

Harry seemed intentionally vulnerable pushed up against the door of the guest bedroom. "I said it into the mirror." Harry continued with a deep, steadying breath, his eyelashes fluttering against the skin of his cheeks. "Over and over and over again and it  _ fit _ ." 

“Oh.” Peter wished he could think of something else to say, could think of a way to drag him out of the memory he was obviously stuck inside of. 

“Dad heard me.” If Peter’s hand clenching around Harry’s hip bothered him in any way he didn’t move to step away, but, instead, held on tighter to his wrist. “And  _ flipped out _ .” 

“Did…”  _ Did he hurt you then? Was that the first time? Will you let me go so I can hurt him the way he hurt you?  _

“No.” Harry shook his head and their noses brushed together when he finally turned his head to catch Peter’s eyes in his own. His smile was a sad one. “He just… He’s never really been  _ mad _ about it.” 

“But?” 

“But nothing, Pete.” Harry shrugged. “He told me I was going to Saint Martins in the same breath that he used to give me a hug.” 

It didn’t make sense, Peter wanted to argue. If Norman was okay with the fact that Harry was into men then what was the excuse for sending him away? “But then why send you away?” 

Harry shrugged but Peter knew the question bothered him just as much. “I don’t pretend to understand the way my father’s mind works.” It was an easy lie to roll off his tongue and Peter recognized it for what it was. Harry  _ understood  _ perhaps a little too much, and he was unwilling to diverge the truth any longer. Peter would leave it, for now. He would ignore the way it made him want to scream and cry and  _ beg _ to be told whatever Harry was keeping quiet on to keep him safe. “But hey,” Harry smiled and it lit up his eyes. “I’m back now.” 

“Yeah.” Peter smiled back even if it felt a little forced. 

He would have to go back, eventually, wouldn’t he? The school year was bound to start again. Had Harry come home every summer? Had Norman kept them apart deliberately or had Harry been too afraid to push for freedom in the face of his father’s wrath? “I’m not going to leave you here.” Harry told him softly with a brush of their lips together. 

But would he leave with Peter when Peter finally figured out _how_ to leave? 

Or did Norman’s grasp of control extend out even that far? 

  
  



	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the one in which we all compare Harry Osborn to Tony Stark and realize they're both That Rich Kid.

Peter was horrible at sneaking around. It was a fundamental, unmovable fact. He had always been bad at it - he was always found in hide and seek within moments because he couldn’t stop laughing. He had been discovered as Spider-Man more than once because of how bad he was at lying. The fact that he was so _bad_ at it made it a bit more unreal that he was _doing_ it and, seemingly, getting away with it. 

Peter was horrible at sneaking around - but Harry was _great_ at it. He had years of practice, after all. When Norman was home Harry and Peter followed his rules - Harry kept his door open and did homework in biting silence that Peter knew he hated, Peter worked down in the laboratory that used to belong to his father, and they obediently ate every meal with him at the table. But when he was _gone_ Harry was an entirely different person. He laughed loudly, he smiled wide, and Peter couldn’t keep his hands off him. 

They talked in the dead of night, whispers in Peter’s guest bedroom underneath covers and pressed close enough to feel each other’s breath against their lips. Or up on the roof under the stars talking about everything they had missed in their years apart, blankets draped over their shoulders and fingers pressing their palms tight together. 

Peter was shocked that it was working as long as it had been. He thought Norman was more observant than that. 

Then again, Norman wasn’t paying either of them much attention - and definitely _less_ attention was being directed towards them at night. Peter noticed Norman’s increasingly erratic mutterings to himself as the days went on - counted and cataloged every snide comment and every small flinch they caused. 

It was still so new, the _kissing_ portion of their relationship, that Peter wasn’t exactly sure what to think about it. His world had been in a shaking tailspin ever since Europe and it didn’t seem in the mood to stop and let him catch his breath. “You’re overthinking again.” Harry nudged him with his elbow, shoulders pressed up against each other as they sat back against the headboard of Peter’s bed. He was reading something in a language Peter only barely understood - French, he thought - and a yellow highlighter tapped against the pages. 

“Sorry.” Peter huffed and snuggled into his warmth closer, more than happy to let his cheek press against Harry’s side where he could feel the rise and fall of his soft breathing. 

It was nice, Peter thought, just being close together. It would have been nicer in the daylight, but Peter would take what he could get. He’d take whatever Harry was willing to give him. 

Peter found that if he wasn’t thinking of the enormity of the situation he was stuck in that his mind swirled around three unmovable facts. One, that he was utterly gone for Harry Osborn. Two, that _leaving_ without him was completely out of the question. And, three, that Harry wasn’t about to go without a fight. That last one made Peter want nothing more than to grab him around his waist and swing out the window _with_ him, regardless of how angry Harry might end up at him. It would be worth it, Peter thought late at night after Harry had pressed one more, lingering kiss upon his own. Peter had been putting himself in danger for years at this point - if they could just safely make it to even Stark Tower then Norman wouldn’t be able to touch Harry again. 

That was the funny thing, wasn’t it? Norman was a threat only to his own son. He hadn’t done anything to make Peter fear for _his own_ safety. That Peter would gamble with just as he did every day he put on the suit. He had given Peter a lab, for all Peter could see was working hard to secure him his freedom. Norman made Peter _uncomfortable_ but only because of what Peter had seen of his treatment of Harry. Peter wasn’t afraid of Norman Osborn - Norman was just a psychotic, angry man. Peter had fought literal aliens. 

But Harry was apparently terrified enough to stay. Peter wondered what he was hiding about Norman. He wondered if there was a threat there or if it was just simple loyalty that had Harry staying. He had no one else, anyway. No mother to help him, no adult he could reasonably go to for help. Only Peter. 

It was a lot to handle, but Peter had been balancing trust and the world on his shoulders since he was thirteen. Harry’s was a familiar, comfortable weight. 

“How do you make the webs?” Harry asked absentmindedly, highlighting another passage in the book. 

Peter blinked out of his thoughts. “What?” He looked up at Harry, counted the ink black hair that tickled over his forehead and traced the angle of his gaze back down to the page of his book. 

“Spider’s webs come out of them. Yours don’t come out of you.” Harry shrugged and glanced, for a quick moment, at where Peter rested. “So I figured you made them.” 

“Y… yeah.” Peter was proud of the webs. It had taken _months_ to perfect the chemical formula he needed to get them _just right_. 

He knew Harry wasn’t one for science, so he explained it only when Harry hummed a curious noise and encouraged him to continue. His voice flowed around them, soft because it was the early hours of the morning, but strong with excitement. Peter _loved_ talking about science and he was well aware that Harry knew it. Still, he stopped and stuttered after a few minutes until the room dissolved into silence again. Harry sighed and finally dropped his highlighter to give Peter his full attention. “You worked with Tony Stark?” 

The name felt odd to Peter’s ears. It was like a punch to his gut, hearing his mentor’s name pass the lips that he had been kissing into the mattress just half an hour before. Still, he nodded while his fingers toyed with the edge of his shirt. “Yeah.” It came out softer than he expected. 

“I met him a few times.” Harry’s legs stretched out in front of him and, only after a moment of deliberation did Peter let his head rest against his thigh. Harry’s leg was warm - all of his was warm (Harry warmed quickly whereas Peter had a habit of staying cold for _hours._ Peter blamed the spider for that too.) - and Peter felt it lull him into a sort of calm that he hadn’t felt since before the attack on New York. “Him and dad _hated_ each other.” Harry said it with an eye roll but Peter didn’t pay that expression any mind when Harry was also smiling that secret, small smile he only wore when he was actually happy. 

“He never liked Oscorp.” Peter could remember Tony catching himself mid-rant one too many times in the laboratory, frustrated over something Norman had done or said in the media. “I couldn’t really pinpoint _why_.” 

“A lot of people hate Oscorp.” Harry snorted, his hand finding Peter’s hair and fingers digging in gently to the top of his skull. 

“I don’t hate it.” Peter’s words blurred together and he nuzzled his nose into the soft line of Harry’s pajama pants. “I hate Norman.” 

“No you don’t.” Harry laughed softly. 

“Yes I do.” 

“ _I_ don’t hate Norman.” It felt like a bucket of cold water on the soft and warm moment. If Harry realized what he said he didn’t make any motion to elaborate. “Can you tell me about him? Tony, that is. I know enough about my dad.” Peter was silent, Harry’s fingers carding gently through his hair and _thought_ . He felt like he had been doing that a lot lately. He had been thinking more than _doing_ . Tony would have made sure Peter was never in this situation. Would Tony have liked Harry? Peter had mentioned him only a handful of times - _“How did you, literal sunshine, manage to be friends with Norman Osborn’s son?” -_ and Tony had almost always immediately changed the subject into happier territory. Whatever blood that was between him and Norman was old and not something that Tony had wanted to bring up in the face of Peter’s apparent trust. 

Peter thought that Harry reminded him of Tony sometimes - they were both so closed off yet open. They both had complicated histories that they liked to avoid. Tony had been more _open_ though, at least about his own father and situation growing up. Peter wondered if it was money that had done it. If _money_ was what had made Howard Stark a terrible father and corrupted Norman so much he’d hurt his own son. It was stupid, Peter knew that. Money didn’t make anyone one way or another. He had heard horror stories about families rich and poor - had _saved_ one from the other too many times to pretend that money was the root and cause of all that was wrong in the world. Money hadn’t made Tony a bad person - in fact, Tony had thrived _despite_ it. He had _used_ what he had to protect everyone else. _Money_ hadn’t made Harry a bad person. Harry who was just a little too guarded, a little too strong in the same way that Tony had been. “He would have liked you.” Peter said as the thought occurred to him. “Once he got over your last name.” 

“Yeah?” Harry asked with a small huff. 

“Yeah.” Peter watched his face - watched the way Harry brightened when their eyes met. “You make _me_ happy so he wouldn’t have a choice.” 

“You’re such a sap.” Still, Harry craned his neck downwards to press a kiss to Peter’s mouth, soft and strong all at once. 

Would it ever stop feeling like a thrill? Peter wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop - one hand winding around Harry’s neck to keep him close and the other curling fingers around Harry’s leg. 

* * *

Harry asked again on the roof the next day - back against Peter’s chest and a blanket draped over the two of them. Peter was watching the sky - remembering with a cold chill through his stomach when he had been among the stars and what it felt like to climb up a spaceship even as air tried to push him down. Harry’s fingers playing with his own was the only thing keeping him from fully escaping into that thought. “How did you meet him?” 

“Who?” Peter let himself be pulled back from space, let his skin cool with the soft breeze that only seemed to exist so high up from the pavement. 

“ _Mysterio_ ,” Harry said it with such gusto that Peter couldn’t help laughing. 

“Uh,” Peter shifted so Harry’s weight rested more against his left leg than his right and kicked out the foot that had started to fall asleep. It was almost unconscious, the way Harry’s head rolled against his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin. Unconscious, but it still caused Peter’s cheeks to heat. “He claimed to be from another universe.” 

“What like Spock?” 

“What?” 

“In the Star Trek movies.” Harry elaborated. “You know, alternate universes and pockets of travel and… stuff.” 

“You don’t even _like_ Star Trek.”

“The new ones aren’t bad.” Harry shrugged at the way Peter widened his eyes in exasperation. “Okay, so I only watched them for Chris Pine but I’m not _wrong._ ” 

Rolling his eyes was probably the most _normal_ thing Peter had done since arriving at Oscorp two weeks before. “I mean, yeah. Like Spock.” 

“How do you know about it, Peter?” Harry asked with a narrowed gaze, his mouth curving in the way it did when he _knew_ exactly why Peter knew. “Was it Chris Pine that dragged you into it too?” 

“I’m not talking about this.” 

“It totally was.” 

It was nice joking with Harry like this. It was nicer than Peter could have imagined to sit under the stars on a rooftop with him in his arms and warming the chill in Peter’s bones. “Mister Stark left me these glasses with an AI in them.” Peter said with his cheek pressed against Harry’s head and Harry’s fingers laced through his. “They gave me access to a lot of stuff and Beck wanted them.” 

“Like a true master villain.” 

Harry had a way of speaking, of downgrading whatever topic was too heavy to Peter that removed the strain from the words. With anyone else the topic of Beck would cause Peter to spiral - Beck had taken advantage when Peter was lost and then used his error in judgement to try and gain fame by hurting innocent people. “I handed them over to him.” Peter shrugged even though the words stung. “And _he_ gained access to a bunch of things he shouldn’t.” 

“Like illusion tech.” But Harry _also_ knew when the topic got serious. He pressed his lips to the back of Peter’s hand and spoke into the skin. “It’s not your fault what he did.” 

Except it was, wasn’t it? And now he was dealing with the consequences of his mistake. Peter didn’t want to talk about it anymore and he turned his face from the sky to Harry’s neck. “Why don’t we just leave?” 

“Pete.” Aside from Harry, Peter only ever allowed Tony to call him that. Ben had called him _Pete_ , and so had Richard. It was too close to someone Peter didn’t feel like anymore. But with Tony it didn’t feel like he had to be anyone but himself, and with Harry it felt simply natural to hear it fall from his lips. “I can’t leave him.” 

Why? 

Peter didn’t know why it upset him as much as it did. What did Norman have that was keeping Harry close? “He’s an asshole.” 

“He’s _all I have_.” 

Peter knew the feeling, didn’t he? May was all he had anymore. Still, the words stung in a way he couldn’t place and he wanted to push Harry away and pull him closer at the same time. “He’s not that bad.” Harry continued, strong and Peter wanted to ask him how long he had been lying to himself. “He’s just… He’s _sick_.” 

“If you stay,” Peter didn’t know why he was speaking still - he was well aware that nothing he could say would convince Harry to leave with him. “If you stay you’ll just keep getting hurt.” 

“I’ll get you your freedom back,” Harry promised and Peter wanted to _scream_. That wasn’t what he wanted. He could handle his life without freedom - he couldn’t handle his life knowing that he sat back and let Harry get hurt. “I promise.” 

It was too much, maybe, to put on the shoulders of someone just barely seventeen. Rather than answer Peter pressed a hard, desperate kiss against pink lips and tickled his fingers over the edge of Harry’s shirt and pants. If he couldn't say it perhaps he could show it. He kissed Harry as though it was the only thing keeping Harry with him. _Let me keep you safe_ , he hoped Harry heard when he pulled him on top of his lap and kept a strong, steady hand on the small of his back. _Please, just let me keep you safe._

* * *

Norman called a press conference the next day to address what it meant that Oscorp was currently keeping Spider-Man out of the public regardless of motions from the police, congress, and the White House to turn him in. Peter had broken the Accords by existing and he was at the very least wanted for questioning about the apparently murder of Quentin Beck. The illusion tech was very convincing, but, Peter supposed, was it was meant to be. 

Norman didn’t allow him to go to the conference with them, so Peter resigned himself to watching from the television. He chose the living room, even if the leather couch squeaked under his weight. If he walked over to the window and looked down he knew he would have seen the reporters gathered at the bottom of the steps but Peter couldn’t bring himself to move. Looking to see if they were really there would only make it so much more _real_ that he was stuck in this situation to begin with. And it would be a harsh reminder of who he was relying on for help. 

The press conference began and the words rushed over Peter like the wave Beck’s illusion had sent up and over him back in Venice. 

Harry looked nervous. 

He was in a suit, standing to the left of Norman with his hands tucked into the pockets of the suit Norman had forced him into. They looked like a proper father and son team, even if Harry looked terribly uncomfortable. He had been in front of cameras his entire life; perhaps, though, it was Norman that was making Harry uncomfortable. He spoke the parroted legal jargon Peter couldn’t pretend to understand. It all boiled down to much the same thing - innocent until proven guilty. He put on a good show. 

Until he didn’t. 

Harry seemed to catch everyone by surprise, his hand tapping softly against his father’s back to grab his attention. “May I say something?” He addressed the crowd and not Norman and it was his Press Voice that came out instead of the one that whispered secrets against Peter’s skin at night. 

It wasn’t exactly possible for Norman to say no once Harry had addressed the reporters, even if the smile on his face made it obvious he wished to. Harry took a deep, steadying breath and Peter felt apprehension eat at his inside. “Yes?” He pointed to a reporter in the front and Norman’s hand was in a tight, almost bruising grip on his shoulder. 

“You and Peter Parker are friends, yes?” She asked with her recorder outstretched in front of her. 

“Yes. We’ve known each other since before we were born.” 

“So do you believe that Oscorp is doing the right thing by harboring a fugitive?” 

“Peter’s not a fugitive.” 

“He’s hiding from the law.” 

“No, he’s not.” Harry shrugged. “It’s simple, really, Peter hasn’t broken any laws because he’s not Spider-Man.” 

_He wouldn’t._

“I am.” 

Peter sputtered and choked on his drink up in the penthouse. The reporters had gone crazy, cameras flashing brightly on the screen so much that Peter could only catch brief, momentary glimpses of Harry standing at the podium with his chin held high. Norman’s hand was gripping his son’s shoulder tighter than it should be and Peter only saw once the cameras slowed their flashes how Harry’s hands were steady where they gripped the edge of the wooden podium. 

He had planned this. 

Peter couldn’t exactly say he felt _betrayed_. Harry had told him that he had a plan to get Peter out of this and be able to go out and see May again. “I’ll get you your freedom back,” Harry had said with his blue eyes boring into Peter in a way that made him think that Harry could see his soul.

 _His_ freedom. But not _Harry’s_ freedom. 

All the hints were there now that Peter was looking for them. Harry had asked so many pointed questions about Spider-Man that was more than just idle curiosity. He was doing research. 

Harry squared his shoulders in the face of the camera flashes and the expression on Norman’s face. He said it almost cocky, his words directed into the camera he knew was broadcasting live and dark hair shining in the sunlight. 

“I am Spider-Man.” 


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware the frottage I guess? #Teenagehormones
> 
> Warning for Harry being a sad boi.

Norman was upset. That much was more than obvious enough by the grip on Harry's arm. He had gone off script - had thrown his father's plans up in the air and _enjoyed_ watching them float down around him in complete disarray. 

Harry had always been a disrupter. It got him into more than his share of trouble - not just with Norman but with principals, friends, and _okay_ maybe it was _mostly_ with Norman. Still, Harry wasn’t about to apologize. He had said what he said and he was prepared to stick with it and live with the consequences. 

It wasn’t _hard_ to wrap his mind around Peter being Spider-Man. It made perfect sense if Harry really thought about it. Peter had always been stupidly self-sacrificing. 

But, well, _Harry_ had always been stupidly self-sacrificing for Peter. 

And staying with Norman wasn’t exactly the best option for him. 

Not when he could be staying with the Starks.

He wondered how angry Peter was going to be, even as Norman dragged him after him with a firm and tight grip on his bicep that Harry _knew_ was going to leave a bruise. Harry purposely hadn’t told him what the plan was - Peter would never have let him go along with it if he had even an inkling of an idea. But Harry didn’t need his _permission_ . Even if it felt like he should have, perhaps, gotten at the very least his blessing. “Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?” Norman hissed and finally let go of him with a harsh and heavy push through the doorway. Harry stumbled, but caught himself. 

Contrary to what he looked on the outside, Harry was actually more than a little bit nervous for the fall out of his decision. Standing up and defending Peter was the easiest decision he had ever made - he wasn’t _regretting it_ and he never would. But standing in front of the world and declaring he was Spider-Man beside his father was one of the most nerve wracking things Harry ever done. 

Two weeks with Peter back in his life and Harry was starting to think that perhaps Norman was right and Harry _did_ make controversial decisions whenever Peter Parker was involved. He wasn’t _better_ without him, though. No… Harry had missed Peter perhaps more than he had admitted to himself. Losing Peter was like losing a piece of himself. Losing Ned had been a slap in the face too and losing the safety and warmth of the Parker household… it had led to some _questionable_ coping mechanisms back at Saint Martins that had gotten him into more than a few meetings with a guidance counselor that cared a little bit too much for their students. 

“I’m…” How could Harry phrase it without angering Norman further? It was nearly impossible. He knew Norman’s moods like the back of his hand - they had always been erratic but Norman had gotten worse as Harry had gotten older. His father had always been quick with an angry word and hurtful phrase but he had never raised a hand until Harry had come back and his mother was gone. Harry missed his mother almost more than he allowed himself to think of. He slept with the quilt from her bed, wore her ponytail holder on his wrist even if it was old and frayed and had knots of her hair still tied around it and was probably disgusting. He kept his old phone just so that he could listen to the last saved voicemail he had of her talking to him about groceries and his most recent visit to the principal’s office. 

He missed her, now. She wouldn’t have allowed Norman to lay a hand on him, would have thrown all four foot eleven of herself between the two of them and pushed against her husband’s chest until he stormed off to his office to fume by himself. She would tell Harry he was stupid even while hugging him close to her chest. 

She wasn’t there though. She was never going to be _there_ again. 

So, Harry, instead, raised his chin with the encouraging reminder that he was doing this _for Peter_ and looked his father square in the eyes. Norman preferred it when Harry showed a spine. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve just done?” 

“I gave Peter an out.” Harry had inherited a lot from his mother, but he had inherited the patented Osborn stubbornness and raging temper. “He can go live his life now.” 

Away from Norman and his _horrible_ plan to turn Peter into his plaything. 

Norman wasn’t much of a threat to Harry - he knew how to live around his father, knew what moods happened in which order. Peter wasn’t familiar. Ben and Richard had both worked very hard to keep Peter as far away from Norman as possible when he was younger. Ben had even gone as far as to send the police to the Osborn house with _suspicions_ of abuse once. Norman had forbade Harry from ever seeing the Parkers after that, but his mother had let him break the rules to spend afternoons at the Parker’s when Norman spent his entire day at the office. Well… until he found out. 

_Peter’s like the son I never had_ , Norman said once to Richard Parker when Harry was five and drawing his father a picture for his office and Peter was playing with Richard’s molecules. Harry had given his father the picture anyway and pretended it didn’t hurt when his father had left it in Richard’s office trash when they left. 

Harry had never been the son Norman wanted. 

This… was no different. 

Norman slammed his hand on the wall and Harry flinched despite himself. “You’ve ruined _everything_!” 

_Good,_ Harry wanted to say. 

Good. 

_Good_ , he wanted to shout when Norman’s ring cut into his lip and made his eyes water from the way it stung as it split. Norman could hurt him as long as he wasn’t hurting Peter. Peter with his sweet smile and shoulders hunched a little too high for someone his age who had lost _so much_ and deserved a better world than _Harry_ could give him. Peter who could have _anyone_ but, for some reason, chose to spend his nights pressing his mouth against Harry’s and stole his sweatshirts and looked at Harry like he was _art_ . The Parkers had been the only ones that had encouraged Harry to draw - Mary had bought him his first set of paints and Ben had been the one to come to the art show their school had hosted when Norman hadn’t been able to make it and had brought Peter along with flowers and a kiss atop his head like Harry, too, was his child. Norman hadn’t been mad when he found out Harry was into guys - he was a biologist and he _understood_ that some things just happened in nature - but he had been livid in a way Harry couldn’t understand when he found Harry’s sketch book and saw it was filled with pictures of _Peter_. 

“Shit, Harry, I’m sorry.” Norman grabbed his face then, took out his handkerchief and patted at the blood that dripped down his chin. His eyes were cleared of the rage, then, and filled only with the quiet concern Harry had always wanted. 

His father was only ever attentive if Harry was hurt. 

It was complicated, Harry had decided ages ago. His relationship with his father deserved a giant neon It’s Complicated sign. He _hated_ him sometimes but the thought of leaving him only made his stomach swirl uncomfortably. He wasn’t scared of his father when it came to him, even if he should be. 

Norman was more scared of himself than Harry would ever be of him. 

“I’m so sorry, my boy.” Norman held him close and it was probably sick the way Harry melted into his arms and _enjoyed_ the strength in them. A part of him felt horrible still - a part of him wanted to push his father away and run so far he could never touch him again. But all he had ever wanted was Norman’s approval and he had only brought Norman’s anger down onto himself. He _knew_ he was going to make his father angry when he decided to say he was Spider-Man. “I’m so sorry.” Norman pressed a rough kiss to the top of his head and Harry was only a little bit ashamed of the way tears prickled at his eyes and was _more_ ashamed by the way he held him back. 

* * *

“ _Harry_.” The way Peter said his name almost always sent him over the edge. 

Norman had left him to go up to the apartment alone, already on the phone with lawyers to protect his son and company now even as Pepper Stark flooded his phone _demanding_ to talk over the plan now that it had changed so dramatically. 

For the longest time Harry had been painfully jealous of Peter Parker. The relationship he had with Richard and Mary was what Harry always wanted as a child, but then Peter had _lost_ them and Harry wished that on no one. But Peter hit the jackpot with family, it seemed. He lost his parents and then gained May and Ben - two of the kindest people Harry had ever met. It was irrational and Harry knew it but he had been _so jealous_ when May and Ben would pick Peter up from school for a family day at Coney Island even if they didn’t have much money. He wanted the way Ben ruffled Peter’s hair and the pride they so obviously held for their nephew. 

But, god, Harry never wanted to be responsible for the agony on Peter’s face now. Peter Parker was the definition of something Harry Didn’t Deserve. Peter Parker and his moral code and blinding smile and eyes the color of healthy planting soil. Peter Parker that looked and lived his life like an acrylic painting that was a mess of swirling colors over a sunrise. He didn’t deserve the way Peter looked at him like he was something that deserved better than what he was getting. “ _Why_ would you…” Peter cut himself off, his eyes firmly on Harry’s lip that was still very sluggishly dripping blood into the handkerchief he kept pressed against it and Harry _wished_ it was a lustful gaze instead of a worried one. 

He would never be scared of Peter, but he was emphatically terrified of what Peter would bring down on his father. Norman didn’t fit Peter’s strict moral code - in that case, neither did Harry - and it was more than a little painful to see the way his eyes hardened and lips pressed tight together into an expression of anger that Harry didn’t particularly enjoy. Peter’s face wasn’t meant for an expression like that. “You’re welcome?” It was stupid to say. 

Peter would only be angrier at _him_ now with his cocky attitude than he currently already was. Harry hadn’t even _meant_ to say it and he certainly hadn’t meant for the flinch in Peter’s expression when he did. “ _What_.” Peter seemed on the verge of throwing his hands up in the air and giving up on Harry which… fair. 

“You’re free now-.” 

“You… you’re such… _ugh_ .” It wasn’t often that Peter was rendered speechless. He always had a comment, a quip, an opinion that needed to be said. Harry was honestly a little proud of himself for being the reason behind Peter’s lack of words - more so when they were in private. He _wasn’t_ proud of his involuntary jump when Peter reached to grab his wrist and he _wasn’t_ proud of the way Peter’s hand dropped slowly down to his side and his head tilted in sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t, not really. Harry wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for either - was it for saying he was Spider-Man or was it for even getting Peter involved in this mess in the first place? Norman had been the one to text Peter telling him to come to Oscorp from Harry’s phone, but it was Harry’s friendship that had put a target on Peter’s back anyway. 

“Don’t.” Peter sighed and Harry hated that he looked like he did that a lot. Being a hero must be rough, Harry thought. Carrying the world on shoulders was never something Harry would ever do - he never envied a hero’s job and he honestly wished it had never fallen onto Peter in the first place. But, here they were. There was nothing they could do to change the unmovable fact that this was their reality now. “Are you… can I?” He didn’t raise his hand until Harry nodded his approval. 

Peter’s fingers were cold against his cheek, but his eyes were attentive and he was standing much too close if Norman wandered in. Peter had always been a weakness, though. The one weakness Harry couldn’t live without. “You can go now.” Harry said even when Peter pulled his hand away from his lip and hissed between his teeth. “How bad is it?” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” It warmed him more than he wanted to - having Peter’s undivided attention gave Harry butterflies in his stomach. “We should put some ice on that.” But Peter didn’t move to get the ice and neither did Harry. He was searching Harry’s eyes for something and Harry wasn’t sure what he expected him to give. What was he meant to be in this situation? Cool, suave or confident? Or could he just be _Harry_ and give into the want to cry over a split lip and admit that he was terrified, at the dead of night, that when Peter left he would never come back? “You’re such an idiot.” Peter said instead of the mixture of emotions Harry could see swirling in his face. 

Harry’s lips quirked in a small smile and it pulled at the cut and the bruise that was forming around the corner of his mouth. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” Peter pulled him in close, then, ignoring his own advice of ice and it felt so incredibly different to be folded into Peter’s arms. He was wearing a soft t-shirt, for one, and Harry’s sweatpants that were just a bit too long and he was _stronger_ than Harry remembered him being before he got sent away. He always had a hand on the small of Harry’s back, pressing small circles against his spine. With their foreheads pressed against each other his breath brushed against Harry’s parted lips and his eyelashes, long and dark, fluttered against Harry’s cheek and it felt like complete euphoria when he pressed even a small kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth that _wasn’t_ injured. “I’m not leaving you.” He whispered it like a promise and Harry _knew_ he meant it. Peter always kept his promises. 

Well, so did Harry. 

It would be a game then, wouldn’t it? Over who could outstubborn who. 

It was almost childish the way Harry didn’t _want_ him to leave. Peter didn’t exactly make dealing with Norman easier but if he was there at least Harry had someone to crawl into bed with at night. At least Harry had a reason to fight back if it was to protect Peter. 

Eventually Peter _did_ pull away and press an ice pack against Harry’s mouth. Harry could have held it himself but Peter had pushed his hand away and insisted on keeping it in place with his own hand. The thing was, Harry thought when he was practically sitting in Peter’s lap on the roof - in _their_ spot - with dress pants creased in a way they weren’t meant to and Peter’s face all but buried into the skin at his shoulder, that Peter was a _carer_. He liked taking care of people - he had to do it - he had a raging hero complex that Harry didn’t possess. Peter was meant to save the world - Harry was meant to survive long enough to secure that Peter would be able to do that. It was okay, he knew his place in Peter’s story. “It’s a good strategy.” Harry said because Peter was being too unnaturally quiet. Peter was never quiet and he was never still, not unless something was truly wrong. 

“It’s a _stupid_ strategy.” Peter muttered against his neck. 

Harry tried to ignore the way it sent goosebumps up his arms when Peter spoke against his skin. This wasn’t the time for teenage hormones. “The more people believe someone else is Spider-Man the more it discredits Mysterio.” 

Peter said nothing and Harry knew it was because he was well aware that Harry was right. Peter did kiss his throat, though, and Harry squeezed tight against his shoulders to either get him to stop or encourage him to keep going - he wasn’t sure which he wanted. “Did your dad do that?” He asked it softly and Harry _hated_ it when Peter asked him about Norman. 

It always felt like Harry was saying something wrong when Peter asked him questions about his father. Like he was getting the answer wrong on a test but he didn’t know _how_. “Do you know what his plan was?” 

“Harry.”

“He wanted you to admit you got bit at Oscorp.” Harry continued regardless, hedging his bets that, perhaps, he could distract Peter from the way he purposely was avoiding answering his question. “And when you wouldn’t he wanted you to sign a contract that said you were essentially Oscorp property.” 

Peter pulled away abruptly and looked at Harry, taken aback. “ _What_?” 

“Yeah.” Harry shifted and ran his fingers gently over the back of Peter’s skull, his shoes scuffing on the uncomfortable stone of the roof and Peter’s legs shifting, just so, underneath his own. “You _didn’t_ sign that paper right?” 

“You told me not to.” 

Harry _had_ , but Peter had been distracted at the time. “Then that means there’s nothing he can do to keep you here.” 

Peter groaned and dropped onto his back dramatically. Harry caught the ice-pack with a laugh. “Stop insisting that I leave.” Peter spoke into his elbow. 

“Stop insisting that you stay.” Harry huffed a laugh at him just a little, even as Peter glared up at him from where he sat. 

“If you stay than I stay, Har.” Peter rolled his eyes. “That’s all there is to it.” 

Harry opened his mouth to argue but Peter pulled him down with one sharp, strong tug and rolled so that he was under Peter’s comfortable weight and the sun blocked out by his head. Harry was only a _little_ ashamed by the way Peter’s strength took his breath away. “They’re going to come for both of us now.” Peter said from above him, his elbows bracketing Harry’s head and body slotted between his legs. 

“ _Let them_.” Harry felt bolder than he usually did - he had known exactly what he was doing during that press conference and he felt no shame in declaring himself as Spider-Man even if Peter expected him to. 

Peter kissed him then, the ice-pack all but forgotten and Harry’s lip protesting against the pressure just enough to make him wince. Peter pulled back almost too quickly. “I forgot, Har, I’m so-.” 

Kissing Peter was like a drug, Harry thought. It was something that he almost wished he had never tried because he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to give it up. He was used to pain - but he wasn’t used to the way Peter’s mouth made his stomach fall out from under him and the way his his hands left a trail of fire wherever they touched. He pulled Peter back in by his neck and Peter could have fought back very easily if he wanted to but he, instead, seemed to melt above Harry until their bodies were pressed against one another. His entire life Peter Parker had been a dangerous addiction but Harry wasn’t prepared to give him up. 

How could he? 

Peter was the best thing that had truly ever happened to Harry, even if it was dumb to say that Peter was a _thing_ that Harry had been gifted. He didn’t deserve him, but he would take what he could get. Harry would let Peter do whatever he wanted to him - he had free reign of everything Harry ever would be. 

Peter licked into his mouth, and Harry skimmed his nails up the back of Peter’s shirt just enough to feel skin. He couldn’t help the way his breath stuttered when Peter’s hips seemed to unintentionally push against his own. They had never done _that_ before and perhaps they shouldn’t - it was probably a horrible idea (even more so to do it for the first time during daylight on a rooftop where anyone could walk by) but Harry couldn’t exactly _think_ with Peter kissing him like he was something that deserved to be treasured. He would take only what Peter would allow _whenever_ Peter would allow it. 

Harry wasn’t exactly a _virgin_ . He had gone to a boarding school and it was almost odd how much there was a lack of control over students once they were sent away to their dorms. He had kissed his fair share of boys (and girls, once) and his first time _ever_ he had been raging drunk and fifteen and it had been so quick that Harry hadn’t even been sure it qualified as anything. He had never _dated_ anyone, though and he wasn’t sure if Peter qualified as a boyfriend even if two weeks and however many years of friendship did more for Harry than six months and a bottle of schnapps. He didn’t know if Peter had done anything before, though, even if it _felt_ like he had from the way he circled his hips and bit at Harry’s neck. 

Communication was _key_ , Harry remembered a health teacher telling them in rapid French, but he couldn’t think of anything beyond Peter’s name. He kept a hand just below Peter’s waistband on the swell of his ass and happily let Peter take him apart with a hand over his mouth and a sly, “ _Quiet_ , Harry.” Peter sounded breathless and _wrecked_ and Harry nipped as gently as he could at the skin of his palm even if Peter didn’t move it. 

It was a good thing he didn’t, though, because Harry had a reputation of being _loud_ and there was no way he would be able to keep his mouth shut when Peter was running his hand just so over the zipper of his pants. He jerked upwards and pulled Peter back down and Peter removed his hand from his mouth just long enough to let him gasp in a breath before swooping in for a filthy kiss full of tongues and hot air. 

It wasn’t _long_ and it wasn’t exactly _sex_ but it was more than they had done before. 

And, after, if Peter was collapsed against his shoulder with a racing heartbeat and Harry was staring up at the clear blue sky and his lip was bleeding again then they didn’t need to say anything. “I’m not going anywhere.” Peter had said and Harry, well, he was obliged to believe him. And, if Pepper Stark came to pick Peter up just a day later and he _did_ leave with protests on his lips then Harry wouldn’t say anything either, even if Harry felt as though he had just made a giant mistake by letting him go.


	7. Seven

Peter  _ liked _ Pepper Stark. Really, he did. She was kind and absolutely gorgeous. Tony had  _ loved _ her so much that it was almost disgusting to watch as a teenager. Pepper had sent him birthday presents, donated to May’s charity, and sent him weekly updates on Morgan even if Peter never asked for them. She asked him about school, about Spider-Man and kept all of his clearances exactly the same as Tony had left them. She let him have unrestricted access to Stark Industries, gave him a key to the lake-house and kept the picture of him and Tony in the place of honor above the kitchen. Right where Tony had left it before… well before  _ everything _ . Pepper gave Peter a room at the house, she talked him down from a panic attack, and Peter  _ knew _ she had jumped as quick as she could into helping him and May when his identity had been slammed all over public television. 

So he  _ liked _ Pepper - he adored her and was grateful for her. 

But, currently, Peter considered what it would be like to live in a world where he  _ hated _ her. 

Peter had been angry before - he didn’t enjoy being angry so he tended to avoid it as much as possible. But he  _ had _ been angry before - he was only  _ human _ even if he had superhuman abilities. And he was only a teenager on top of that. Currently, Peter could only see red. 

He had met a vigilante in Hell's Kitchen a while ago - before the snap, back when he was just starting out and helping little old ladies cross the street and saving cats from trees. The Daredevil. Tony had told him not to be friends with someone like that - someone that had purposely broken the Accords and was on so many different watch lists that it was insane - but Peter had worked with him a few times. He was nice, never once asked Peter who he was or if he was even old enough to be out stopping crime, and instead gave Peter pretty sound legal advice in case the Accords tried to rear their heads in his direction one day. “You’re still a minor,” Daredevil had said on a rooftop over burritos that Peter had insisted they stop and try. “They can’t even speak to you without an adult present.” 

Daredevil had explained the way he saw the world when Peter had inquired. He was blind - which  _ badass _ \- for the most part but the chemicals that had spilled into his eyes had more colored the world with dripping red paint. Well, Daredevil had said dripping blood but Peter chose to imagine paint since that was less terrifying. 

Now, though, Peter thought that he  _ understood _ what Daredevil had been telling him. The Stark lake-house seemed  _ drenched _ in blood even if it was simply figuratively. Pepper Stark’s previously unmarred and perfect skin was now stained with the copper red blood of Harold Theopolis Osborn and there was nothing she could do to wash it off. “Take me back.” It was probably the tenth time Peter had said that one sentence in the last hour. 

Pepper had yet to agree - not even when Peter’s eyes were welling with frustrated tears and not even when he had shrugged off her gentle touch on his shoulder. Peter knew, logically, that Pepper had put up with things much more frustrating than an angry seventeen year old but Peter had  _ also _ put up with things worse than her careful indifference. 

He  _ wasn’t _ leaving Harry there. 

That was completely out of the question. 

The unfortunate thing about being the person Peter was, was that people tended to forget that he was stubborn and tended to not simply roll over and give people what they wanted. It was a trait that even Tony had forgotten a few times that Peter possessed because Peter was usually too kind to let his stubbornness show. He was a rational thinker and, if someone presented a well rounded argument, he tended to simply let things go the way they had wanted them to in the beginning. 

“We’ve talked about this, Peter.” Pepper said with her back to him and peeling the crust off a corner of wheat bread for Morgan’s lunch. They  _ hadn’t _ talked about it, actually. Peter hadn’t had time to get his say into the conversation between Pepper and Norman when she had come to pick him up. It had been a quick, businesslike transaction where they shook hands, Happy herded him into a black Audi, Harry had smiled, possibly the saddest smile Peter had ever been forced to see, and then they left. It had all happened so fast that Peter had barely even registered that he wasn’t disappearing to Stark Industries for simply a short visit but actually being expected to  _ stay with the Starks _ until things blew over whatever way they were meant to. Perhaps it would have gone better if May had been the one to collect him - or perhaps it would have gone worse. Peter knew he was lucky that Norman had even let him go with Pepper at all but a lot of things seemed to have happened in the background that the adults hadn’t seemed to be willing to let him in on. It seemed that Harry’s plan of coming out as Spider-Man had done exactly what he had meant it to do. 

Peter knew that the kitchen of the Stark lake-house wasn’t exactly the place to be having this argument - Morgan was sitting at the table for one, and, for another, May was still somewhere in the house. If he could talk to her maybe he would be able to convince her to support his side of the argument. She had always liked Harry in a way that told Peter that she had seen a lot of their… new found relationship coming back when they were still children. 

But, then again, Peter was  _ stubborn _ inherently and he  _ wasn’t leaving Harry there _ . “ _ No _ , we haven’t.” He knew he sounded every bit the seventeen year old he was and he also knew that, try as she might, Pepper didn’t truly understand  _ why _ Peter was so angry. She had gotten him out of a potentially bad situation and Tony would have expected nothing less from her. Peter didn’t even think that Tony would have gotten Harry out either - why would he when Norman was nothing short of the perfect father. Peter wished it had been Tony, though. Tony who would have understood in a way that even Peter didn’t just how dangerous it was to leave Harry with an unstable father on his own. “I didn’t  _ ask _ to be saved.” 

The argument was unreasonable and not the one Peter meant to be having. He might not have asked for it but he certainly had needed it. It was illogical to expect him to stay with the Osborn’s in the center of New York City when the government was banging on the door and asking for his head. He understood  _ why _ he had needed to leave. It was much safer for him in the long run. 

But Peter hadn’t  _ asked _ for safe - he hadn’t  _ asked _ to be saved. 

Pepper had taken care of May, placed security around his friends and that was the most Peter would have ever asked of her. But he hadn’t  _ asked _ that she come pick him up and try to solve all of these problems. Perhaps he was still angry with Harry for saying he was Spider-Man but even he had to admit that it was a smart - yet incredibly  _ stupid _ \- strategy in the end. 

In almost two weeks Peter had never imagined a world where everything got solved but  _ Harry _ was left behind, though. 

It felt as though Harry had just been snatched from his hands and shoved firmly in the background of his life even when Peter longed for him to be front and center. Something had been missing during those years that Harry was gone and Peter wasn’t willing to test the theory that he would survive without that part of himself again. 

“Peter,” Peter hated how she kept saying his name as though it was going to calm him down. He only got more frustrated with each utterance. “I wasn’t just going to leave you in the hands of Norman Osborn.” 

“But it’s fine to leave  _ Harry _ there?” Peter couldn’t help throwing his hands up towards the roof and then rolled his eyes at his own dramatics. 

“Harry isn’t who I’m concerned about.” Pepper was keeping her tone as light as she could - Morgan  _ was _ sitting at the table coloring. She seemed only too happy to be ignoring their argument, though, even if Peter knew she was absorbing everything they were shooting at each other. He figured Pepper did too and that was why Peter wasn’t being forced to listen to much harsher words. 

“He’s who  _ I’m _ concerned about.” Pepper placed the plate in front of Morgan and brushed her daughter’s hair back from her head gently before pulling her attention back to Peter. 

“Norman won’t let anything happen to him - he’s his son.” 

That was what it was wasn’t it? Not many people saw the two of them behind closed doors - absolutely no one except Peter heard the arguments or saw the Harry Osborn who balanced on the edge of a skyscraper just to see if fate decided to toss him off. No one saw the Norman behind the penthouse doors - no one saw the spread of breakfast as an apology or the flickering pages of a sketchbook as it burned up in the fire or the  _ blood _ on Harry’s face from ruining his father’s plans. Peter saw  _ red _ as it dripped down from his hands and Pepper’s hands and coating the wooden floor and ran to cover the entire house with it’s poisonous color. “You’re not  _ listening _ !” It was with pure frustration that Peter kicked at a chair - he wasn’t one to show his anger in any way other than words or tears. He hadn’t kicked or hit anything in frustration since he was ten. 

Peter hadn’t forgotten how strong he was - he had held up an entire building, he had caught so many cars and pulled down a crashing plane. He had fought thousands of drones and survived after getting hit by a train. 

None of the things that had happened to him hurt as much as leaving Harry behind. 

Certain death, his senses were screaming at him. He had just left Harry alone to face certain death when Peter had  _ promised  _ that he wasn’t going to leave him behind.

And Pepper didn’t  _ understand  _ that. 

So he kicked the chair and the wood on the leg snapped instantly - splintered and went flying in a thousand different directions and Morgan shrieked, just a little, and Peter  _ should _ have felt bad only he felt only more angry that it didn’t take any of his frustration and make him feel better like he wished it would have. “Peter!” Pepper snapped in the voice that reminded Peter that she had not only raised a child to six years old, but also had been married to Tony Stark - possibly the most frustrating person in the world. She was holding Morgan in close to her chest even if Morgan didn’t actually look afraid - only startled - and her eyes threatened him to try anything to endanger her child again. 

“Walk it off, Peter!” He hadn’t even heard May walk in behind him - his mind was swirling with the red dripping off his fingers and the sad smile on Harry’s face when Peter was hustled out of Oscorp and… May grabbed his forearm and shoved him bodily through the kitchen door. “ _ Walk it off!” _

The screen door broke when he slammed it shut and he would  _ have _ to apologize for that later but, currently, all Peter wanted to do was break into a run and sprint his way back to New York City consequences be damned. He gripped at his hair in frustration and felt the past few weeks well up in his stomach like lava preparing to spew out of a volcano. His arms were shaking with suppressed emotion and all Peter could see was that  _ stupid small sad smile _ and blue eyes the color of the sky over the clear lake. All he could hear was the smooth tenor of Harry’s voice as he read out loud from his fancy French science textbook aloud for Peter to fall asleep to and drown out the noise of the city. All he  _ felt _ were the way Harry’s lips had traced over the freckles on Peter’s skin and the way he tasted late at night when Peter refused to let him say goodbye and wander off to his own bedroom lest they be caught. 

Peter wasn’t sure if he was angry or sad or just plain upset but, either way, it drilled its way up his throat into a nasty shouted swear and a hard kick to an entire tree branch so that it flew and crashed into the middle of the lake with a loud  _ splash _ . Temper tantrums weren’t like him. 

He let himself fall to his knees and bury his fingers in the dirt instead of tearing out his own hair. Peter bowed his head and tried to ignore the salty trail of tears that traced their way down his cheeks and dripped over the tip of his nose. “Quite an outburst there, Parker.” He could have sworn it was Tony’s voice on the brush of wind but when he looked up it was Happy, knelt down in front of him despite bad knees and beard more salt than pepper than Peter remembered it being. “You good?” Happy, the only person that had seen Peter break down like this maybe once before - or close to - on a plane with no idea what was real and what was not. He reminded Peter of Ben sometimes - the stress that coated his face and the way he so obviously adored May. Peter would have preferred Ben. 

Peter choked on an answer but the fact that he didn’t have one only solidified the fact that he  _ wasn’t _ okay. Happy’s hand was comforting on his shoulder and he squeezed just once before May stormed out of the house after Peter. Peter knew her footsteps like he knew Ned’s - it was born out of familiarity and love. He tensed before he could stop himself. 

Rarely had May actually yelled at him but he knew it was coming from the way she sucked in a deep breath. Happy swore a little himself, clearly seeing the storm cloud of anger falling over his aunt’s face before he patted Peter’s shoulder once, twice and straightened up. “May-.” How sweet of him, Peter thought, to try and get between what was obviously going to happen regardless of his presence. 

“ _ Peter Benjamin Parker _ .” It was a full name sort of problem and May was on a warpath. Peter had only gotten her this angry exactly once - when she found out that he was Spider-Man. He envied  _ no one  _ to be on the receiving end of a May Parker rant. “ _ What _ in the world was  _ that _ ?” 

She knew what it was and Peter knew that it was smarter to keep his mouth shut yet, still, the rage that flowed through him reminded him startlingly of how young he really was. “You had  _ no right _ !” 

“Excuse me?” May raised an eyebrow at the attitude that bled into Peter’s words. “You don’t talk to me like that, Peter.” 

She was right, of course she was. Peter had too much respect for her to speak to her like she had personally inconvenienced him yet, still, his hands were coated in so much blood he sometimes couldn’t see the skin color beneath it. “I  _ promised _ him I wouldn’t leave him there, May!” Something inside of Peter broke and something in her anger fell away. “I  _ promised!” _

Promises meant a lot to Peter. He didn’t throw out the word uselessly and May knew and understood that. His parents had promised him that they would come back from their trip and go to Coney Island and yet they had broken their promise when the plane crashed. He had promised Ben not to do anything stupid and then he had promptly gotten his uncle killed. He had promised May that he would be safe and then disintegrated into dust on a different planet in Tony Stark’s arms. Promises were meant to be broken but not without Peter fighting  _ so hard _ to keep them. And the only person he had never broken a promise to was Harry Osborn. Not when they were children and not  _ now _ . 

“We don’t handle our problems by breaking things, Peter you know this.” Still, May was just as stubborn as Peter was and she had years of experience on him. She crossed her arms and stared him down like he was five years old all over again. “You could have really hurt someone in there!” 

“I wasn’t going to hurt anyone!” 

“What if that chair splintered and hit Morgan? What would have you done then?” 

“I…” 

“If you’re angry be  _ angry _ Peter but don’t you  _ dare _ take it out on Pepper when she’s doing the best she can to keep you safe.” 

“But May-.” 

“No buts, Peter!” 

“ _ Will you just let me talk!”  _

Peter had raised his voice to May only three times the entire time they lived together and  _ all  _ of them had been put to an end very quickly. He was raised to be a respectful child - he very rarely raised his voice, he adored May more than words could say, and he was grateful for everything she had ever done for him. But Peter was also a  _ child _ and he was also so absolutely exhausted of everyone telling him how wrong he was without listening to what he was trying to say. “He will  _ die _ if we let him stay there!” 

He was pleading in a way that he so rarely did but May was  _ also _ incredibly worried about him. “ _ You _ aren’t safe if you go back.” 

That was the crux of the problem wasn’t it? May, Pepper, Happy… they cared if  _ Peter  _ was safe and only if Peter was safe. It was their number one priority in the entire situation. 

_ Who cared if Harry was safe _ ? Who cared if Peter didn’t care? Who did Harry have? 

He wanted to scream. “Norman Osborn  _ will kill his son _ if you don’t  _ let me go back _ .” 

“Norman would never hurt his own son, Peter.” 

“ _ Yes _ he would!” Peter thought of the bruises, of the flinches and the split lip and was torn between crying and screaming. “ _ You know him _ ! How can you just… what gives you the  _ right _ to trade my life for his?”

May paused and Peter knew he overstepped. He knew he said something he wasn’t meant to. “What makes you think your life is nothing compared to his, Peter?” 

Nothing, nothing did. Peter wasn’t suicidal and he  _ knew _ that trading lives wasn’t what they did. It wasn’t something that any of them had intended but Peter  _ knew _ that he was the only thing keeping Norman from shoving Harry out of the window while he was staying with them. No matter how much it might have been played off as an accident Norman Osborn wasn’t a  _ good man _ and he was an even worse father. “I… I  _ can’t _ May, I  _ can’t _ .” 

“You can’t what?” 

“I  _ can’t. _ ” 

It was a miracle, he supposed, that him and May had made an effort to be as open as they had their entire lives because she seemed to understand even when Peter couldn’t find his way around the words. Her face did something complicated - she both fell and lit up. “ _ Oh Peter.”  _ It seemed to make sense to her then, what the entire outburst was and she gathered Peter in close to her even as his body shook with repressed anger. He hadn’t even realized how sad he was until she wrapped him in her arms and he took in a loud, shattering breath before burying his face into her shoulder and squeezing her to his body a bit too hard. “You are the only thing I have left, baby.” She whispered into his ear low enough that only he could hear. “I can’t lose you too.” 

_ “Please _ ,” he begged even as she shushed him in the comfort of her arms.

The idea of losing Harry again was too terrible for Peter to try and dwell on. 

“I know, I know, baby.” May’s hair smelled the same that it always did - strawberries and cream and slightly sterile from her nights at the hospital.  _ You can’t save everyone,  _ her voice seemed to say. “We’ll figure it out.” 

_ I love him _ , Peter hoped she understood from the way his chest screamed out for comfort. “I  _ can’t _ lose him too, May.” 

She didn’t answer but Peter didn’t think she’d need to. He cried instead because he never felt more safe than at the Stark lake-house while  _ Harry  _ was facing certain death at the hands of his father. How unfair of the world to give him something and then snatch it away as quickly as they always had. 


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard.

**2014, New York City Biochemistry and Engineering Convention**

Tony had ditched the crowd as fast as he could, the room full of too many camera flashes and reporters to make him feel anything but calm. He had attended only because it would be weird if he  _ didn’t _ but once outside in the quiet loudness of the bustling city he contemplated simply leaving. Pepper would be angry if he did - he was the  _ face _ of Stark Industries even if he wasn’t the one sitting behind the big desk and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to live it down. He was already treading on thin ice with her after…  _ everything _ . 

They might not survive this and that thought alone was enough to make Tony turn back to face the vultures inside. Perhaps he could find a corner full of college students or eager high schoolers to spend the afternoon answering questions of and ignoring the pestering and prostering adults that just saw a photo op. He’d rather a teenager go viral for a picture with him than an adult anyway. At least they wouldn’t abuse it the way their parents so obviously would. 

Besides, he thought while checking his watch, it was almost time for Norman Osborn’s presentation on genetics and Tony  _ needed _ to be caught looking unimpressed in the background as much as possible. It was tradition, after all. 

Tony didn’t even  _ hate _ the Osborn family. He hated  _ Norman _ but Elizabeth, his poor unfortunate wife, was genuinely kind and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Tony, when he was younger, had offered to whisk her away from Norman more than once and each time she had declined with a shake of her ink black hair away from her face and a laugh that reminded him of champagne. Elizabeth was funny, an artist if the stains on her hands were anything to go off of, and Tony didn’t understand how someone like  _ Norman Osborn _ could get someone as pure and sweet as  _ Elizabeth _ to marry him and stay with him. 

He figured it had something to do with the kid. Tony hadn’t spoken to him much - he didn’t  _ like _ kids before he was Ironman and, since then, he had been lucky enough to be able to avoid anything Norman Osborn touched. Norman never bothered to bring the kid when he was little anyway, which Tony assumed was a good thing. Kids tended to get distracted and  _ distracting  _ and if it wasn’t going to be for a publicity stunt Tony wouldn’t expect Norman to drag him along. 

Tony had  _ tried _ to like Norman when they were younger. They didn’t cross paths much in the business world - Stark Industries was tech where Oscorp was biochemistry - but they had both grown up in the public eye. They both had a  _ legacy _ that was looming over them their entire lives. They had grown as children with an odd sort of comradery - during events and speeches and stuffy galas in expensive suits they had stuck together. Then, when Tony hit his rebellious stage, Norman had swerved a hard right away from him. He didn’t drink at events, he went to board meetings with charming words and graduated high school with honors. He saw Tony as a threat - Tony  _ had _ graduated early and already had one degree from MIT when Norman had started his first year at Harvard. Tony had gotten his own company and he hadn’t even  _ wanted  _ it, not like Norman had. He supposed Norman had gotten married to the first pretty woman that paid him attention - Elizabeth certainly was  _ stunning _ on his arm and she was  _ European _ and young and an artist. Norman had a child quickly after because doing so was what was expected and, suddenly, the Osborns were the family to follow in the tabloids. They were smart, beautiful, and young - all the media’s favorite things. 

Oscorp was genuinely unproblematic until a few years before when it got leaked to the press that they were pushing through drug trials without FDA approval. It had barely even blipped on Tony’s radar but a part of him would always be interested in how Norman Osborn was running his “legacy”. Then came the lawsuits from families of people that had died in the trials and the research into regenerating limbs by crossing animal DNA with humans and… really, Tony shouldn’t have been shocked that Oscorp was in hot water. They had lost their most promising researchers almost seven years prior - Tony remembered because  _ he _ had tried to poach Mary Parker a year into her employment. 

The problem was that Tony was  _ petty _ . Pepper hated that about him even if she accepted it was a part of who he was. Tony held grudges and Norman hadn’t hesitated to send him news paper clippings of his business failures all throughout the years. It had grated on him in a way that not much did. Tony had worked  _ hard _ to get to a good place and it seemed that Norman didn’t enjoy his good press nearly as much as Tony did. 

“Tony, hello!” Elizabeth Osborn’s voice was softly accented with her first language. Norman had paid for good speech therapists but Tony had spent years travelling the world and picked up on accents quickly. He didn’t know a word of French, but he had caught Pepper trading a few phrases with Elizabeth at least once before during a gala. Elizabeth was always at any event her husband was attending - a beautiful and slender accessory for Norman to show off to the cameras. Tony couldn’t complain - she was a sight to look at and a good conversationalist even if she didn’t know much about science or technology. 

She was wearing a shimmering red dress that was offset only by a wide black belt and tall black boots that stopped above her knees and just under the train of the dress. If Tony’s heart didn’t belong to Pepper Potts it would have belonged to her. “Elizabeth!” He genuinely  _ liked _ Elizabeth Osborn. She was the total opposite of her husband, everything about her screamed natural grace and effortless elegance. He let her pull him into a hug and press a barely there kiss to both of his cheeks.

“No Pepper today?” She asked even though it was obvious she wasn’t there. 

“Just me and some interns.” Tony was an observant person even if he sometimes wished he wasn’t but, moreover, Elizabeth wasn’t a fantastic actress and she didn’t usually wear much makeup. It wasn’t hard to pick out the blue under the layer of cakey makeup on her normally pink cheek. “Pepper has an actual business to run today.” 

Elizabeth laughed kindly and scratched at the bracelet dangling off her wrist.  _ Mom _ it said in an elegant cursive. She had a carefully sketched flower under it - not a tattoo but instead outlined in sharpie. Curious, but who was Tony to judge when he had formulas written on the inside of his arm. She almost looked ready to say something else when Norman finally walked on stage - he was overdressed in a suit and tie at something that was obviously a business casual event with shining pointed toe Italian leather shoes. His hair looked even more like a carrot underneath the bright lights and Tony didn’t understand  _ who _ told him to go with a red tie to match his wife’s dress when it simply made him look more pale than usual. Tony tuned him out when he started talking, eyes instead trained on the bruise Elizabeth was trying to hide and the way her smile seemed so much more forced now that he had seen it. 

Tony had been in his fair share of fights, both as an Avenger and as a civilian. He had bruises for days and weeks and months, broken more bones than he could count, and for longer than he would like to admit, had been living with shrapnel floating around his chest. He  _ knew _ what a bruise looked like and the size and shape of a bruise from a fist. 

Elizabeth didn’t seem like the fighting type. 

They lived in New York, it was entirely possible that she had been mugged or a target of some sort of attack. Granted, Tony knew Norman well enough to know that that would have been plastered all over the news for the publicity in a heartbeat, though and he hadn’t seen anything even close to that in the papers or blogs. He frowned and the thought was one he wished he hadn’t had. It was almost impossible to shake off even if he wanted to. “Who drew the flower?” He focused on that instead as his mind puzzled over the problem that Elizabeth Osborn’s bruised cheek presented. 

She seemed puzzled by the question until Tony nodded at her wrist and then she laughed - a real laugh this time that sounded like popping bubbles of champagne against the air. The press was surely going to post more pictures of Tony chatting up Norman’s wife than they were going to post about Norman’s speech. Elizabeth’s fingers trailed over the delicate black lines with the softest smile Tony had ever seen on her face. “Harry gets stressed during these things and Norman told him he couldn’t bring anything to entertain himself.” She shrugged as though that wasn’t simultaneously the most heartbreaking sentence and the sweetest one Tony had heard her utter. 

“Harry’s your son, right?” Because Tony hadn’t spoken to the kid beyond a hello when he was around five and Tony was very  _ very _ drunk. 

“Yes, he’s around here somewhere.” Elizabeth shrugged as though she wasn’t concerned but the way her eyes looked around the room told him that she actually didn’t feel comfortable without him by her side. 

Her fingers toyed with her bracelet. “It’s good.” Tony referred to the flower again. 

“Oh yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “He’s a great artist.” 

“Norman must love that.” Tony meant for it to sound the way it did - wry and dry and slightly judgemental. Norman was strongly into the idea of a  _ legacy _ and, for years, had spoken to the press about what good awaited the company when he eventually handed it off to his only son. To have a son that was more into art than science must be equivalent to the slap in the face that Tony being a heavy drinker was to Howard. 

Tony wondered if Norman spoke to his son and wife the way Howard had spoken to him. He wondered how much was a  _ we don’t have time for that _ when his son had a scraped knee or wanted to play with a friend and how much was disappointment at not being the first in his class or going through grades quickly. Tony had reacted to Howard’s indifference by trying harder for attention until his dedication turned into disdain.  _ Years _ of therapy helped. The Avengers helped. Pepper helped. 

Tony still didn’t think he would  _ ever _ want to be a father. 

“Norman just wants what’s best for Harry.” Elizabeth didn’t sound like she believed it though and Tony wondered if it was a lie she had to tell herself and if she ever fought against his dreams for their child. 

“What about you?” Tony asked, careful to keep his tone as absentminded as possible. Elizabeth shot him a curious look. “Did he give you that when you stood up to him?” He nodded at her bruise and felt nothing short of a sinking in his stomach when her face grew pale in the wake of her husband’s voice echoing off the walls. “Or did you take it so he wouldn’t give it to your kid?” 

“Tony.” Elizabeth’s voice was hard like his mother’s used to be when Tony purposely antagonized Howard. “What are you implying?” 

She was good, that much was obvious. It told him more than he wanted it to that she was good. “I can help. You know that, right?”

“Help with what?” 

He gave her a look and reached to poke at her cheek. Elizabeth’s fingers were cold against his skin and her grip tight when she forced his hand down. Her smile was hollow. “Don’t get involved, Tony.” 

“What are you going to do when he stops hitting you and goes after the kid instead?” 

The problem with Tony was that he was always blunt. It had caused many problems for him over the years - Tony was blunt and said the wrong thing at the wrong time and, back when Pepper was his assistant she would have to clean up the mess for him. Now, though, Tony took no pleasure in how his words caused Elizabeth - someone who Tony maybe considered at the least a business acquaintance - to almost violently flinch and throw his hand away. She was about to say something else when Norman beckoned her on stage to stand next to him as his presentation neared its close. 

Tony watched her go with something horrible swirling in his stomach. He watched as she let Norman’s arm wrap around her waist and her lips press against his cheek. 

Tony watched them and saw the fractured family they really were and he thought, perhaps, he understood  _ why _ she stayed with Norman. It was the same reason that Maria Stark stayed with Howard…  _ fear _ . He wished he drank. 

* * *

He had dismissed himself not long after his  _ own _ presentation, his phone in his hand and ready to dial up Rhodey to distract himself from the memories Elizabeth Osborn had brought forth from the depths of his mind he had buried them in. He didn’t trip over the boy sitting against the stairs but he did stop and blink when the leg splayed in his path refused to curl in towards his body. He contemplated kicking it out of his way but, instead, settled for an exasperated sigh. 

“Hmm?” The kid hummed, eyes not even once glancing up from the phone he was holding in his hands, thumbs moving quick over the screen and lips curved up in a half smile. 

_ Kids _ . Tony rolled his eyes. “If you don’t move your leg I  _ will _ step on you.” 

“There’s like a whole five feet to go around, dude.” There  _ was _ actually only three feet for Tony to maneuver around but that  _ wasn’t the point _ . 

“If you just moved this would be over by now and you’d be able to… do whatever kids do on their phones nowadays.” 

“If you’d just go around you wouldn’t be standing here waiting on me to move.” 

The entire argument was useless and Tony knew it but the quick answers were giving him pause. The tone nagged at him and reminded him fiercely of someone that he couldn’t put a finger on. “Kid, just move.” 

“ _ Adult _ , just go around.” 

“Look up from your Bejeweled and  _ move _ .” 

“Bejeweled? How old  _ are _ you?” But the kid  _ finally  _ looked up and Tony thought he had uncomfortably been trading sass with Norman Osborn for a moment before he blinked and noticed the freckles, baby fat around what would one day be a defined jawline, and ink black hair. 

This was the kid. He was the spitting image of his mother - he had all of Elizabeth’s French heritage and all of Norman’s attitude yet, somehow, Tony felt as though he was staring down at himself - thirteen and hiding from a room full of expectations. A barbed wire tongue and guarded expression and shoulders set tight from one too many words of disappointment. 

He knew the moment that the kid -  _ Harry _ , Elizabeth had called him - recognized him. He reacted the same that teenagers tended to do - his blue eyes ( _ Norman’s _ blue eyes) widened almost comically and he scrambled up to his feet. Norman had forced him into an outfit to match both him and his mother (he  _ would _ … they had to be the picture perfect family at all times where the public could see) but Harry had lost the jacket and black tie somewhere and would probably never find them again. He pulled off the red as well as his mother did, though, and the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and collar open. “You’re Tony Stark.”

“And you’re in my way.” Tony tried not to let the observations be noticeable but he shouldn’t have worried - the kid was thirteen and obviously distracted by the hero standing a stair above him. 

Tony expected a lot of things to happen next and he was prepared for each one of them - either the kid would react the way Norman would want him to and try to insult Tony or he would react the way  _ any _ teenager did and ask for a picture. “My friends are  _ super _ obsessed with you.” That… wasn’t what Tony expected. 

He blinked. “Your friends, huh?” 

“Yeah!” Harry’s hands floated around his face with all the enthusiasm that only a teenager could have. “You’re like Peter’s idol.” 

“Your friend Peter must be pretty cool, then.” 

Harry’s eyes lit up as though Tony had just said his favorite food was being delivered. “Him and Ned won’t shut up about you.” He rolled his eyes but it was with a smile that told Tony that it didn’t really bother him at all. “Peter’s, like, the smartest person I’ve ever met though.” 

“Does he like me more than your dad?” 

Harry snorted with a laugh. “Who doesn’t?” 

It shocked Tony so much that he couldn’t help laughing himself. “Harry! Your mother’s been worried sick about you.” Tony didn’t turn around but, instead, found himself paying close attention to the way the smile dropped quickly from the kid’s face and was, instead, replaced with a careful mask of indifference. His hands dropped to his pockets, his phone hidden from view and chin pointed down towards the stairs. “And  _ where _ is your jacket and tie? I told you you had to wear them the whole event.” 

It was ridiculous to expect a kid to stay in a full suit for an eight hour event but something told Tony that things would only be worse if he said anything. Instead he shook a card out of his pocket and handed it between two fingers to Harry as he made to walk by. “Tell your friend to give me a call when he’s out of high school.” He hoped Harry understood what he was doing - he hoped the message got across. 

“Tony,” Norman sounded so  _ fake _ now that Tony had seen more than he ever wanted to. He watched with careful eyes as Harry, slowly, took the offered business card with a quiet thank you and slid it into his pocket. “Are you trying to poach my own son?” 

“I would  _ never _ .” 

Maybe he was, though. Maybe, if Harry called, Tony would tear him and Elizabeth away from Norman Osborn and keep them safe. 

He pretended not to notice the way Norman gripped his son’s wrist when he finally stood next to him at the top of the staircase and, with his mind already whirling through plans and ideas and problem solutions, Tony turned his back and sucked in a breath of fresh New York City air. “Friday,” he tapped his ear to activate her. “Dig up everything you can on Harry Osborn.” 

“Yes, boss.” 

“Save them in a locked file for me, okay?” 

“Of course, boss. What should I title the file?” 

Tony thought about it with careful steps towards his car. Delicate. The situation was entirely more delicate than even the weapons Tony used to manufacture. “Project Never Again.” 

“Right away, boss.” 


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: if you are sensitive to abuse DO NOT read past the page break.

Ned was lounging across from Peter at the desk that used to be Tony’s, barely containing whatever excitement was buzzing through his veins. He had only touched the computer once and he had snatched his hand back so quickly it was almost as though he was terrified that it would break if he touched it. Peter was happy to see him, really. Ned was his best friend, he was calm and collected and had such a kind heart that it put Peter to shame on more than one occasion. Peter had known Ned for most of his life, he called his parents Aunt and Uncle and they thought of him like a second son. 

Ned, however, wasn’t who he wanted at the moment. 

And it was so  _ wrong _ to think that but Peter still felt it like it was tearing at his heart. Three days. He had been away from Oscorp for three days, the media was still going insane over Harry’s declaration of being Spider-Man and it had been a full month since Mysterio had shouted his name for all of New York to hear. Peter hadn’t been able to even get a text through to Harry’s phone and it was quite possibly only May checking on him every ten minutes that kept him from giving up and  _ walking _ back to New York City. 

For his part, Ned was doing an okay job at distraction. Peter knew it was what May and Pepper hoped for and Ned was taking his appointed job very seriously. While spinning in the entirely too technologically advanced desk chair Ned was spitting out Star Wars facts like it was no one’s business but his own. He had caught Peter up on the freak out of everyone that knew him after the initial video was released - apparently MJ had tried to run damage control but Flash had been suspiciously quiet. The group chat was split in three groups currently - those that believed Mysterio, those that believed Harry, and those that believed no one. 

“How… uh…” Ned halted and looked at the wall behind Peter instead of  _ at _ Peter and they had been friends long enough that Peter understood what Ned was struggling to ask. He waited it out even if his hands itched to punch the wall and his legs wanted him to just start running towards the city. “How is he?” 

Peter hadn’t forgotten that their duo had once been a trio. Most of his childhood memories were with both Harry  _ and _ Ned. They built Lego cities together, played video games, had one too many sleepovers and made  _ stupid _ videos that had them laughing for hours. Ned had, actually, been the one that sent Peter the article about Elizabeth Osborn’s passing. Ned had been the one to comfort Harry when he broke his ankle in gym back in eighth grade and had coached Peter through more than one asthma attack. It had hurt Ned too when Harry had left and Peter had forgotten that. “He’s… he’s good.” Peter blinked at himself and backtracked. He didn’t  _ lie _ to Ned and he wasn’t about to start after sixteen years of friendship. “He’s not good, I don’t know why I said that.” He spoke the words into the heels of his hands as though that would soften the truth of them. 

Harry wasn’t _fine_ . Peter wasn’t _fine_. None of them were _fine_ or _good_ or _okay_ and it felt too much like disrespect to lie to Ned like that. “What do you mean?” Ned said it cautiously as though he was broaching a subject he wasn’t sure he wanted to broach. 

He never approached cautiously when asking Peter about Spider-Man - he approached carefully when asking Peter about Ben or his parents or Tony. Peter wasn’t a ticking time bomb, but when he was angry Ned had trouble finding the words to calm him down. Harry was obviously a sensitive topic for both of them, and that was assuming that May hadn’t told Ned the basics of what was going on. How did Peter put into words what he had seen? How did he crush that hope in Ned’s eyes by telling him that one of their best friends had been being abused by his father right under their noses this entire time? “I think we’re dating now?” Well… that was one way of going about it. 

Ned blinked but recovered pretty well for the circumstances. “Oh?” 

“Yeah it… just sort of  _ happened _ .” 

“What about MJ?” Peter shrugged and toyed with his fingers. He wasn’t nervous about telling Ned - Ned had been the only one Peter had  _ told _ about his crush on Harry to when he figured it out at fourteen. He was nervous about what would come next, though. Of the questions and answers that he didn’t know how to give. “I’m happy for you, though! You’ve been crushing on him for years.” 

Peter felt a half smile pull at his lips even if he didn’t much feel like smiling. There was Ned - utterly accepting of any and all of Peter’s quirks and fiercely supportive and loyal until the end. Peter wouldn’t trade him for the world. “Yeah.” It was soft because Peter  _ had _ and he had  _ had _ him and then lost him with a blink of the eye. “He’s… it’s not good, Ned.” 

“You’re… not good?” 

“The  _ situation  _ isn’t good.” 

“What do you mean?” Ned nudged him with his foot until Peter looked him in the eye. “Peter… this is bigger than your identity isn’t it?” 

In the long run it really wasn’t - Peter’s identity implied a lot of identities and put a lot of people in danger. By being  _ unmasked _ as he was he had systematically pointed out a flaw in the Accords, shoved Shield back into the daylight, and highlighted yet another way anyone looking to hurt him could do so. He didn’t want to think of how Harry had slapped that same target on his own back only days before when he already had a ledge he was balancing so precariously on called Norman’s temper. The danger to Harry was no different than the danger to so many children in the world - but it felt all the more  _ real _ to Peter. “Norman…” There were a lot of words Peter wanted to use to describe Norman Osborn and none of them really encapsulated how much Peter  _ hated _ him. 

“How bad is it?” The way Ned asked made Peter shake himself back into reality. Ned wasn’t looking at him but, rather at his hands, and toying with the sleeve of his sweater. Peter couldn’t think of the words to say to him. Had Ned known? Ned was perceptive - he played bumbling fool well enough but Ned was one of the smartest people Peter had ever met. “Harry, uhm… he told me once that his dad scared him.” 

At first Peter felt such an unusual sense of betrayal shoot through his gut that he almost felt as though he were about to throw up. Then he settled back into his chair with the realization that Harry hadn’t told  _ him _ for a reason. Or had he and Peter not  _ listened _ because Norman Osborn had been his hero once upon a time. He was smart, he was a scientist and he always made time for Peter whenever he had even the dumbest biology question. Had Harry been afraid that Peter wouldn’t have believed him? He remembered they were ten and Harry had a cut on his elbow from falling off the swing set in his backyard (or so he  _ said _ but now Peter knew to question every one of Harry’s injuries as a child. What had been real childhood clumsiness and what had been Norman’s rage?). Harry had been laying with Peter on the floor of his bedroom, the two of them staring up at the glow in the dark sticks May and Peter had put up as a way to replace his nightlight and Harry had asked if Peter would tell if he ran away. “Where would you go?” Peter had asked with all the curiosity a child could muster. 

“I don’t know.” Harry had shrugged and picked at the corner of his bandaid. “Would you tell?” 

They had just gone over the whole  _ if you see something say something _ spiel in health class that week. Peter had sat through another one of Captain America’s PSAs about telling an adult when a problem arose instead of letting it fester or trying to solve it themselves. “I’d tell Auntie Eliza,” Peter had said without any thought. “Or Uncle Ben. If they asked. Just so you’d be safe.” 

Peter realized it, now, what it was that Harry had actually been asking. And he had  _ failed _ in the same way Ned hadn’t. Ned had kept that truth that Harry had told him in confidence and kept it close to his chest.  _ Peter _ had explicitly told Harry that he would tell anyone if they asked. Harry hadn’t even been  _ angry _ about it, Peter remembered. He had shrugged off the answer like it was one that he had expected. 

How many hints had there been, Peter wondered. How many times had Harry  _ tried _ to tell someone and they didn’t listen? He felt sick and clammy and so very angry. “He said he didn’t want anyone to worry.” Ned continued as though Peter wasn’t spiralling before him. Peter didn’t blame him, though. He hadn’t looked up from his own hands yet. “I told him that sometimes my dad scared me too when he was mad.” 

Ben yelled at Peter once and Peter had gotten scared - it wasn’t the sort of scared that Harry had meant though. But, as children, how were they supposed to know? There had to be  _ some  _ forgiveness in their age, even if forgiveness felt like tar solidifying in the pit of Peter’s stomach. “Norman’s going to kill him.” It was thick when it came out of Peter’s mouth and he was almost ashamed to feel a tear fall down his cheek. 

What good was crying going to do? He wiped it away angrily and set his jaw tight. “Why are we just  _ sitting here _ then?” Ned’s chair spun towards the computer and he clicked it on with all the talent of someone that had been working with computers their whole life. 

“What are you doing?” Peter scrambled to his feet next to him and watched as Ned - seventeen year old Ned Leeds - hacked his way into Tony Stark’s personal computer. He made it look so  _ easy _ that it almost made Peter jealous and, not for the first time, Peter thought of how lucky they were that Ned was one of the purest souls out there. 

“There has to be  _ something _ we can do, right? Without even leaving.” 

Three clicks later and a chat box popped open. Ned blinked and his hands hovered over the keyboard. “Uh…” 

“Ned, what did you do?” 

“ _ I _ didn’t do that.” 

**Spider-Man** floated in the little white box in dark blue writing. Peter traded a look with Ned of mild panic. **Funny seeing you here**. 

“ _ What do we say?” _ Ned hissed in a whisper like whoever was typing in the chat box could hear them. 

It wasn’t  _ that _ absurd, Peter thought, even if it felt very much like something Tony  _ wouldn’t _ do on his own personal computer. “Maybe it’s an AI?” 

He leaned down over Ned’s shoulder to type out a hesitant and cautious  **hello** and traded a look before pressing the send button. 

The answer came too fast to be anything  _ but _ a bot in Peter’s opinion. Ned was a quick typer and so was Peter but neither of them were quick enough to type out a full sentence in under two seconds.  **You haven’t been seen patrolling lately. Need any suit upgrades or did you just turn on the computer to surf for porn?**

Peter sputtered and Ned’s face lit up in flames. 

**What sort of bot are you?**

**The best kind, obviously.** It  _ talked _ like one of Tony’s bots anyway.  **No judgment though, man. Do what you gotta do.**

**I’m not here for that**

**You sure? I’m 90% sure I can find some risque files for you on here. What are you into? A little Avengers porn your thing or are you more vanilla?**

Peter pushed the keyboard away in embarrassment and felt more than saw Ned drop his head onto the desk in mortification. “Why does Tony Stark have a porn bot on his computer?” 

**In all seriousness, do you need help with anything? I have access to all the files Tony had access to.**

The message popped up after a moment and against all better judgement Peter typed out a slow and hesitant request for information.  **What do you have on Oscorp?**

**Mostly hate ramblings from Tony late at night** , the bot typed.  **But if I cross reference that to Spider-Man I end up with a whole chunk of files. Wanna narrow that search down?**

Peter’s hand hovered on the keys and he gnawed on his lip. What was he hoping to find, here? Of course Tony had files on Oscorp if he had files on Peter - Peter’s mutation was directly linked to an experiment  _ Oscorp _ had run. Ned grabbed the keyboard from him when it seemed Peter wasn’t sure what to type into the box.  **Cross reference with Harry Osborn** . 

It took the bot longer to respond this time, and the wait time - a total of thirty minutes - felt as though Peter and Ned were waiting  _ years _ .  **You sure about this, Spidey?**

_ Spidey _ . Tony had coined that nickname for him late in the lab one night when Peter had decided that he would be easier to solve one of his chemistry problems from the ceiling and not from the floor (it had worked, sometimes you had to look at a problem  _ inverted _ instead of head on - Peter had told Tony that). It was a little unsettling to see his nickname on the screen and hear Tony’s voice saying it echoing like a whisper from a ghost in his ear.  **What do you have?**

**Just as a blanket caution here - opening the file I’m about to send without the proper passwords and security WILL release it.**

**Give me the passwords and security then.**

**Password is your full name. Security is all up to Tony.**

**Thanks for your help… what should I call you?**

**Maybe my name?**

**Which is?**

**Harley. Those files aren’t for the weak of heart. Just a warning.**

A window opened on the screen and Peter watched as Ned typed in his name in the password protected document. 

The files flew across the screen - school records, test scores, notes from doctors, and pictures. So many pictures. Tony had compiled a list of injuries and public outings of the Osborn family. He had  _ hacked his way into doctor’s records _ . Spilled across the screen was a complete compilation of Harry Osborn’s biggest secret. 

_ Tony had known. _

Peter felt it like a punch to the gut. He stumbled backwards even as Ned leaned forward and read what was in front of him with big, wide eyes. Peter’s mind swirled with possibilities. Was he feeling betrayed or hurt or  _ hopeful _ ? And why would Tony set it up that the wrong password would  _ leak _ the files? Who exactly had been trying to get into them before where that safeguard had to be put in place? What good would leaking the files do anyway? All it would do was… “Ned you put in the right name right?” 

“Your full name, yeah.” 

“Peter Benjamin Parker?” 

“ _ Oh no _ .” 

“Ned!” 

Panic clawed at his throat and Peter lunged forward even though he knew that it wouldn’t do anything. The screen went dark, the files closed as if someone had closed out the program all together, and, instead, a swirling text that Peter recognized as Tony’s own personal handwriting took its place -  _ Gottcha, Norman.  _ It read in the same mocking, superior tone that Peter  _ knew _ was the way Tony had meant it to come across.  **Project Never Again Released for Publication** , it said on the screen and Peter wanted to scream. 

What had they done? 

* * *

Things had been relatively quiet since Peter left - Norman didn’t bother Harry with much beyond checking on school work. He  _ had _ taken his phone, though - “To ensure no one tries to contact you directly,” Norman told him as though he was doing him a favor - so Harry couldn’t exactly spend the day surfing the web or checking in on Peter to verify that he was okay. The days dragged on, lost in a sea of French vocabulary and confusion over the Advanced Chemistry course Norman  _ insisted _ that Harry would need to lead the business one day. Harry was barely scraping by with an A-, but he knew he would have to get the grade up before Norman saw it. 

He was bored, he was lonely, and his lip still  _ hurt _ every now and then. 

Harry rubbed at his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose and tried not to remember how much easier it had been to study when Peter was sitting like a solid wall between him and Norman. He would be back to school in the spring - back to a life  _ without _ Peter - and he just needed to survive until then. 

Nothing seemed to be setting Norman off lately, anyway. His father was notably upset that he had had to give Peter up but he hadn’t explicitly stated that it was  _ Harry’s _ fault yet. Instead he went on countless rants in his office about the meddling of Pepper Potts and how Peter hadn’t even  _ wanted _ to go. 

Harry knew it was unfair to wish but… he  _ wished _ Peter was there. 

“Harry!” His father’s voice was  _ too _ measured to mean anything but trouble and Harry’s pencil stuttered on the paper he was writing on. His muscles tensed - fight or flight mode begging him to  _ ignore _ his father or to try and edge out of the penthouse and down the stairs without him noticing. “ _ Harry! _ ” Too late, he had been paused too long and Norman was now standing in the doorway to his bedroom, hair immaculate and a suit jacket thrown over his arm. 

His father’s cold blue eyes stared at him and Harry saw no one there except a nightmare. His heart wasn’t beating quickly but instead calm in it’s soft pattering -  _ inevitable _ . This was all inevitable. Three days of peace was more than Harry usually got. “My office.  _ Now. _ ” 

Walking after him felt like walking to his own execution. 

There were exactly 456 steps between his bedroom and the front door and Harry had only one chance of reaching it. Running would only make things worse. Running would only make him  _ angrier _ and…. Norman stopped with his hand on the doorknob and Harry stopped just as abruptly. In his hand was Harry’s phone - the same one Harry had lent to Peter when he had stayed with them - the screen cracked and his father’s palm bleeding from the glass. “I need you to do me a favor, son.” 

It came to him as though in slow motion. Harry knew his father’s moods better than he knew his own.  _ That _ wasn’t his father looking back at him. That was something inhuman, something primal and angry and… Harry knew what he wanted without even asking. 

_ Peter _ . 

Exactly 487 steps from Norman’s office and Harry got through only 241 of them before his father had slammed him against the wall so hard that the only picture Norman allowed of his mother shook and fell to the ground with a splattering of broken glass. His father’s teeth were bared in his face in a mocking smile. “You thought you were being  _ so _ sneaky.” 

“ _ No _ .” 

Harry wasn’t scared for himself but rather for what this  _ man _ would do to someone as pure, as  _ good _ , as Peter Parker. Norman grabbed Harry by his collar and rammed him backwards again. “That’s okay, Harry. I don’t need your cooperation, anyway.” 


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always darkest before the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING - the same that applied to last chapter.
> 
> This chapter... is one of the hardest things I have ever had to write. Please be careful by the end of this one. I don't show what happened but I DO show the aftermath and sometimes, in my opinion, that is worse.

Peter’s hands were shaking even as he stood with his back straight and face set in a stubborn line. May was blocking the door, Pepper was standing in front of the back door, and Morgan was sprawled on her stomach in front of the window. He wasn’t sure if they had strategically placed themselves that way, but, regardless, none of them looked as though they were planning on moving. 

Ned was behind him, his voice scratchy from the endless stream of apologies he had spewed just moments before while Peter had changed as quickly as possible into the Spider suit. “Where are you going?” May  _ knew _ where he was going - they all did even if they wanted his verbal confirmation just so they could shove the  _ no _ in his face. 

Peter  _ knew _ it wasn’t the smartest plan he had ever had, mostly because he didn’t  _ actually _ have much of a plan. The world had greyed, a little bit, and swayed and staggered and  _ shook _ from anger and worry and just plain panic from the moment Tony Stark’s taunt had appeared on the screen and the breaking news story alerted on his phone. His senses were alerting him to a danger that wasn’t for himself - or  _ was _ , Peter wasn’t exactly sure - and  _ May was in his way _ . “I have to go.” 

“Peter.” It was Pepper that spoke up, her phone clenched in her own hand and eyes weary. He knew he was reminding her a little too much of Tony and his stubborn need to  _ save  _ everyone but… he didn’t really have the energy left to care. “What exactly are you going to do to help?” 

“Let the police handle this one.” May piggybacked off her words, her voice soft and begging and Peter  _ hated _ it when May begged. He almost always gave into her every whim when she pitched her voice that soft and had that much worry bleeding out of her words. 

“It’s not like  _ you _ leaked those files.” Pepper meant it to be a good thing but Peter only felt the words like a stab to his gut. Ned whined and covered his red face with his hands. May blinked and Morgan, not understanding the severity of the situation, giggled and kicked her feet in the breeze that was coming through the window and kept on coloring. “You…  _ didn’t _ leak those files right?” 

“We didn’t mean to.” 

“ _ Peter! _ ” 

It wasn’t  _ important _ , though. The files being leaked just sped up something that Peter had been itching to do for  _ days _ . He had an excuse now - a reason behind swinging himself out of the Stark lake house and back to the shining metropolis of New York City - and a determination that no one would be able to stop him from accomplishing his goal this time around. Peter was an odd mix of angry and apprehensive - he wondered if Harry had seen the news, knew it was stupid to think that Norman hadn’t - and he thought he knew Norman well enough to know that he wouldn’t simply go to the police without putting up a fight. 

Norman was just a  _ man _ . A man with fists and anger and violence coiled at the ready. He didn’t scare Peter in any way  _ other _ than thinking of what pain he could inflict on his own child when no one was there to stop him.  _ With great power comes great responsibility _ . Peter had the power to stop him - or at least delay him - and if the cops happened to show up and arrest him then that was all that mattered in the end. “You can’t go in your suit.” Pepper waved him up and down and Peter startled. 

He hadn’t exactly expected anyone to tell him that he  _ could _ go. Pepper had been so adamant about it before and May had overprotective down to an art form ever since Europe. He had been prepared to fight his way through them - hopefully just verbally fight, though. Peter didn’t actually want to  _ physically _ fight either of them. “Why?” Peter looked down at the red and blue and frowned, his mask twisting in his hands. 

“We’re trying to stop them from arresting Spider-Man, Peter.” Pepper reminded him with a soft, gentle smile. “If they see Spider-Man flying through the streets of New York  _ and _ Harry Osborn - who  _ might _ be Spider-Man - but no Peter Parker we’re in for a whole mess of more legal trouble than we’re already in.” 

“Oh.” 

“Go change. I’ll pull around a car.” 

* * *

May insisted on coming with them, which left Ned at home with Morgan as an unexpected babysitting choice. Peter was half sure that they were going to come back to Morgan dissecting a computer or Ned tied up to a chair while Morgan stuffed too much chocolate in her face. The car was moving entirely too slow for Peter’s liking - the sun was setting over the tops of buildings by the time they pulled into the City and his nails were bitten down to the nubs before they even got off at the correct exit. May and Pepper were sitting up front, their conversation light and casual between them despite the weight Peter felt pushing down on his chest. 

He wanted to jump out of the sunroof of the car - he wanted to get out, grab the car by its bumper and make them  _ scream _ . At least that way they wouldn’t be acting so normal with the situation was anything but. His thoughts were swirling - a mix between imagining the very real possibility of finding Harry dead and the other possibility that Harry was  _ fine _ and safe and smiling when Peter came knocking at his door. Hopefully Norman was too busy with work and trying to put out the fire that Peter had unintentionally started to even think of paying Harry a second thought. Maybe Harry had been smart enough to  _ leave _ when the news broke (or before, hopefully before) and was hiding somewhere in New York City just waiting for Peter to make an appearance again. Hopefully…. 

The Oscorp building looked different from the ground. It was tall, glass, and imposing. It blocked out the purpling hues of the sunset and blotted the sky with silver metal. Peter forgot how much it looked like Stark Industries from the outside and, if he looked behind them and to the left, he would have been able to see Stark Tower in all its glory. He had too many memories there. Too many memories  _ here _ and most of them were good. Peter remembered being five years old, gripping on his father’s hand in a little matching lab coat that his mother had bought him at a Halloween store and excitedly following his father into his office for Bring Your Kid to Work Day. He had been so excited, then. Not only was he going to be an honorary scientist for the day - but he was going to be seeing Harry. 

He hadn’t gotten to see Harry that day. Harry had been sick and Norman hadn’t even stopped by to say hello. As a kid he had been disappointed but easily distracted - instead Richard had taken him out for lunch with Uncle Ben at their favorite sandwich shop - Delmar’s - and then they had played at the park for the rest of the day. Peter looked up and saw the top of the building and imagined Harry balancing on the ledge - arms outstretched as though if the wind caught him he could fly and a missed step that sent him stumbling. He remembered the feel of Harry in his arms that day - the solid strength of his body and the way he had smiled so blindingly that Peter had felt like he was staring into the sun. What would have happened if Peter  _ hadn’t _ caught him?  _ “You’d catch me if I fell, wouldn’t you Spider-Man?”  _

He wondered if Harry had even known that he was slowly falling this entire time or if he was so used to the free fall that it didn’t even shock him anymore. 

Peter swallowed hard and was the last out of the car. Now that he was there he didn’t know what to do. May’s hand was warm and comforting on his arm, a gentle guide towards the lobby and passed security that only eyed him for a moment and eyed Pepper for much longer. “Mrs. Stark!” The receptionist at the desk was startled to see them. “What… you didn’t have an appointment.” 

“No, I didn’t.” Pepper smiled back. “Is Norman available?” 

“Not… Let me buzz him for you?” 

“Thank you, sweetie.” 

The receptionist did so, her nails clacking on the phone as she typed in his personal number. She didn’t have to say anything for Peter to know he hadn’t answered. His neck prickled with anxiety and his phone vibrated in his hand. It was only habit that had Peter looking down at the screen, and so it was only habit that had him swiping up to view the message that had just come into his phone.  _ Find your way up, Spider-Man. _

The screen splintered when it crashed to the floor but Peter was already passed the reception desk and sprinting towards the elevator to pay it much mind.  _ Danger! _ His senses were screaming at him with every step he took and Peter artfully side stepped every security personnel that tried to get in his way. The elevator was blocked and would take far too long, Peter decided and he slammed his palms against the wood of the door that led to the staircase. 

The penthouse was on the top floor - a good 98 flights of stairs - and Peter made it up in under two minutes and barely out of breath. He realized when standing outside the door that it had been a very long time since he had stood on  _ that _ side of the hallway. Peter hadn’t stepped foot outside the penthouse unless it was to go to the roof with Harry when he was staying with the Osborns and he hadn’t visited Harry at his house since he was twelve. 

Peter didn’t have his Spidey suit on, he wasn’t exactly prepared for what it was he was about to step in on, but he didn’t let a mere  _ fear _ stop him. 

The entryway was immaculate and untouched but the apartment wasn’t exactly  _ silent _ even if it looked like no one was home. He could hear Norman pacing in his office, the sound muffled by a closed door but still louder than Peter wanted it to be. Peter left the door open and walked farther even against the crippling scream of caution in his mind. He stepped closer and  _ stopped _ . If the entryway was clean then the kitchen was a  _ mess _ . Peter didn’t miss the implications - it was clear that there had been a very  _ involved _ fight that had occurred there. The chairs were almost all knocked to the ground, dishes were broken and the table was askew. There was blood on the wall and on the floor and table and…. 

Peter broke into a run, his heart in his throat and panic digging it’s fingers into his throat. Peter hated that he could imagine what happened -  _ hated _ that he could see the mad dash to the door and towards an exit that would never be reached. Peter could hear Norman, then, muttering insanities to himself and the office door splintered open. Norman’s shirt was torn, his silken pants stained and shoes scuffed. His hair was sticking up in spikes and when he looked at Peter it was only the cuts on his knuckles that Peter could see. He smiled and it pulled grotesquely at the skin at the corners of his mouth. “ _ Spider-Man _ .” He spoke it wasn’t Norman was speaking but the monster that lived in Harry’s house his entire life. 

Had Norman always been insane? Had he hid it really well or had it been creeping up on even him. “ _ So quick. _ ” Norman laughed as though at a joke that Peter couldn’t see. 

Where  _ was he? _

Norman stepped closer to Peter and all the rage coiled in Peter’s muscles snapped like the strings on a guitar. Norman’s back slammed against his desk and his hands scrambled around Peter’s wrist, nails digging into his skin and smile crazed. “There you are, Spidey.” 

“Where is he?” 

Norman laughed again as though Peter’s question was the funniest thing he had heard all day. “ _ You _ were meant to be mine, do you know that?” 

“If you hurt him-.” 

“I needed a  _ cure _ and you stole it!”

Peter pushed him back harder and felt only a little satisfaction at the sound Norman’s body hitting the hard wood of the desk let out. “ _ Where is Harry _ ?” 

“You didn’t understand,” Norman rambled on as though Peter didn’t have the strength in his pinky finger to kill him. “This was all a  _ game _ and you were losing until he had to  _ step in _ . Do you know how exhausting it is to have an idiot for a son?” 

Fists never solved any problems but Peter felt so much better when Norman doubled over after Peter had plunged his into his stomach. “This isn’t a game!” 

“This is all a game!” Norman laughed from where he was bent over. “ _ Don’t you see _ ?” 

Peter readied his fist for another punch when a noise caught him off guard. A cough, small and barely there. Three doors down.  _ The guest room _ . Norman was watching his face and knew the moment Peter heard him. He smiled the insane smile that filled Peter with anger more than Mysterio filled him with fear and laughed when Peter shoved him backwards and over the desk onto the floor. “Are you going to stop me, Spider-Man or save your  _ boy _ friend?” He didn’t know. 

He wanted to do both. 

He wanted to beat Norman so far into the carpet that _ he _ would be the one scared. He wanted to find Harry and escape with him from whatever pain had been unfairly inflicted. He  _ wanted _ and didn’t know what the right choice was. 

If he left Norman would run but if he stayed…. “The problem was never that he was  _ gay _ . It was that it was  _ you _ . It was a problem until it  _ wasn’t _ anymore. What was the easiest way to get Spider-Man? Your worst quality had always been your  _ heart _ .” Norman spoke from the ground with the same manic glint in his eye. “You would have made a great scientist if you only didn’t have your heart. So I thought… why not  _ take it from you _ .” 

Peter was going to be sick. 

He was going to kill Norman. 

He was going to… he didn’t know what he was going to do. 

“Peter?!” It was May that yelled it from the hallway and he could hear Pepper just moments after her with security on her heels. 

“It’s over, Norman.” Peter said the words even if they felt like a lie. 

“Norman’s gone now.” Norman tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Only the Goblin is left.” 

“Peter!” May gasped his name from her spot in the doorway and Peter knew how it looked. Norman was bleeding and Peter - Spider-Man even without the suit - was standing over him. Pepper could handle him. Security could handle him. 

Peter pushed passed her and shouldered into the guest room, Norman’s laugh echoing in his ears and drilling into his mind. 

If he thought that the kitchen was a mess then he wasn’t prepared for the guest room. Peter remembered sleeping in that bed, he remembered working at the desk and being pushed into the mattress with kisses tingling on his lips and…. 

The mattress was half off the box spring now, the desk knocked to the side and lamp broken. And… Was this what MJ felt when she saw him on the bridge after the fight with the drones? Was this punch in the gut anything other than what Norman had wanted him to feel? 

“Oh god.” It wasn’t him that said it but a security guard that had herded after him. “Greg call an ambulance!” 

Peter didn’t know what he was seeing. He didn’t know what he was  _ feeling _ . It was like Ben all over again, hands coated with blood and tears pouring down his cheeks. Only Peter wasn’t crying this time and he didn’t know where to put his hands. Harry looked  _ broken _ on the floor but Peter could hear his breath rattling in his chest. His heartbeat was too slow, his eyes closed and bruised and a small trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “Peter, I need a towel.” May was beside him before Peter was, the voice she was using one that Peter had only heard when he had scraped a knee or come home with an injury that needed to be patched up. It was her Nurse voice - the one that she used to boss around people in a crisis and it didn’t work the way she meant it to. Peter didn’t  _ snap _ out of it. He didn’t run to get her a towel, but he did drop beside her, and reached out with a careful hand to press his fingers to Harry’s cheek. 

“His… his heart’s too slow.” Peter felt May’s eyes on his face and he knew the fear that was pulling at him too well. He pressed his forehead hard against Harry’s own, mindful of injuries he could see and squeezed his eyes shut tight. Harry’s hand was stretched towards the door, almost as though he had been reaching for Peter when he had stepped into the apartment. 

May’s hand rubbed against his back for just a moment and she worked around him as Peter tired hard to memorize the sound of his breath. “ _ Okay, okay _ .” Peter could hear her mutter to herself as she pushed a hand against his chest to feel for the broken bones Peter knew were there. 

“Please don’t go.” Peter whispered against Harry’s parted lips and didn’t kiss them, even if he wanted to, but instead allowed himself to breathe only when Harry did.  _ I need you _ , he thought with eyes open and the blood from the gash on Harry’s head smeared with Peter’s shaking touch.  _ I love you, I love you, I love you _ . 

“Baby, I need you to move.” 

“May.” 

“ _ Peter _ , the ambulance is here.” 

Peter only moved when Pepper pulled him backwards, her grip strong and unyielding. May stayed knelt to the ground, giving off specifics that she had noticed in the practiced manner that only someone that had done this one too many times could have. She gave Harry’s name, his age, and only paused to look at Peter when they asked if he had any allergies they could think of. No, Peter shook his head. Harry was allergic to nothing that he could think of. He didn’t  _ like  _ a lot of things - like meat or benadryl or iced tea. “Is… is he going to be okay?” Peter asked but the paramedics didn’t have an answer for him, too busy with a gurney between them and hands pumping oxygen in through a hastily strapped on mask to pay him any mind. 

He had blood on his hands and blood on his face that wasn’t his own. He had scratches on his wrists from Norman’s nails and bile in his throat and tears pulling at the corners of his eyes. Peter felt both helpless and so very, very lost. 

And he didn’t know if he would ever be found again if Harry wasn’t going to be there by his side. 


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To go through hell and come out the other side is sometimes the biggest thing worth celebrating. The climb up starts now.

Peter didn’t remember getting to the hospital. He blinked and then he was there - sitting in a too sterile waiting room that clogged his nose with sanitizer and bleach and antiseptic with Pepper’s gentle hand on the back of his neck like Tony used to do to ground him in the moment. May was arguing loudly at the desk and Peter could hear her from miles away -  _ she _ was where he learned his stubbornness - kind yet strong and fierce. Pepper had taken a silk soft handkerchief and brushed it over Peter’s forehead. He tried not to think too much about the stale smell of blood that trailed after it as she tucked it into a pocket on her purse. 

“Only family, ma’am.” Said the receptionist for what  _ had _ to be the fifteenth time since they arrived. They were ten minutes behind the ambulance - ten minutes filled with police demanding answers that Peter couldn’t think of words for until Pepper slammed a card against the chest of one with a simple, aggressive  _ call my lawyer _ and hustled them out. 

“His  _ family _ is the reason he’s here!” May shouted, losing her cool in a way that Peter hadn’t seen since someone  _ dared _ insinuate that Peter should go into the system after Ben. 

Peter looked up at her with dry red eyes, croaked her name and watched her deflate. May shuffled forward to kneel in front of him, her hands cradling his cheeks and green eyes bearing into his own as though she could see his soul from this close. “Oh baby.” Whatever she saw made her sigh as though her shoulders were holding a thousand tons. May ran her knuckle under his eyes and pulled him in close - warmth spreading from her touch and replacing the grounding grip of Pepper’s hand. 

“Let me see what I can do.” Pepper whispered as if it were a secret between the three of them and left Peter to May, her hand carding through his hair and her voice murmuring words Peter couldn’t focus on. 

He hadn’t closed his eyes over half an hour - if he did he only saw the twisted, bloody, battered and bruised body of his best friend lying on the pure white carpet of the room Peter had slept in for weeks. If he did he would hear rattling breath, broken ribs, and a too slow heartbeat pounding quietly against a chest. Peter could still feel the shaky exhale of Harry’s breath against his lips, could still taste the rage that curled at his tongue and the  _ fear _ that had followed him his whole life. 

May’s words were meant more for her than they were for him, Peter knew that. For him it was her embrace, her steady breathing and strong heart that he could feel beneath his fingertips as he held her, maybe, a little bit too tightly. They had been through this a lot, hadn’t they? He had held May together at Ben’s funeral and she had put him back together after nightmares and bad days. 

Still, Peter felt almost as though he were betraying Harry by allowing himself to relax into her grip. Harry had never felt safe, had he? Peter had missed it,  _ Ned _ had missed it, and so had May and Ben and anyone that had ever  _ met _ Harry. Everyone except, maybe, Tony. Tony who knew where to look and where to dig and probably understood more than anyone wished it did about what exactly blue eyes were hiding. 

Failure. 

It felt like a rock slamming against his back repeatedly. 

"Peter." He blinked and he was next to a hospital bed, May shaking him awake with a steaming cup of coffee. May usually didn't let him have coffee so… well today had to be a special case. He remembered the urgency when the nurse finally let them back and Peter didn't know if it was a threat or a bribe that had gotten the job done but, either way, it was a victory. Police were stationed on the door either for protection  _ for  _ Harry or  _ from  _ him Peter wasn't sure.  _ Idiots _ , he wanted to shout at them.  _ Spider-Man's right here not stuck in a hospital bed _ . But the words had died up in his throat when he had finally looked at Harry's body on the bed. 

His eyes were almost black, his defined jaw that Peter had nipped at just  _ days  _ ago swollen and with a big purple mass the size of a fist. His hair looked  _ horrible _ which, Peter thought, was a weird thing to focus on except Harry would  _ never  _ wear his hair slicked back even under threat of death. His nose had been broken, his lip cut and he had a neat line of stitches on the middle of his forehead. He was on oxygen -  _ just in case _ , the doctor had told Pepper in the hallway - and his entire arm was in a cast. 

But he would recover. 

They were enthusiastic about that. 

Harry had yet to wake up and Peter was determined to keep a constant vigil by his bedside until he did. The doctors worked around him, which was nice Peter supposed. In any other situation he would have been shoved out the door but, somehow, Pepper was keeping them all at bay. Slap the name Stark on the patient chart and everyone was willing to bend to the will of whoever was giving them orders. Usually it would have annoyed Peter to no end - how  _ dare _ they get special treatment when there were those less fortunate being completely ignored. Now though, when it was  _ Harry _ that needed the treatment, Peter was unbelievably thankful for the intervention of those with power and money to give him the best care possible. 

What had transpired at Oscorp was the biggest news story of the week - probably of the  _ month _ \- and that had reports salivating at the heels of hospital officials and police officers. Tony’s files had leaked to the press and Harry's name was now plastered all over tabloids and blogs and twitter feeds. The Billionaire Abuse Scandal was all anyone was talking about. Peter had done well on avoiding social media following the Mysterio announcement but even  _ he _ was finding it hard to not cringe every time the television in Harry’s private room passed by a news channel. Wasn’t it illegal to post pictures of a minor, Peter wondered. Still, though, there was Harry’s face all over the news, tabolids, internet and magazines. The theories were sickening, the apologists even worse, and May had confiscated his phone after an hour of reading through the comments on one Newsweek article that went out of their way to not only say that Tony made it all up, but that Norman had the right to punish his child whatever way he saw fit. 

Unfortunately, people had spotted both Harry  _ and _ Peter enter into the hospital. Two potential Spider-Man identities under the same roof. Norman had been brought to a different hospital - one farther away and closer to the state prison - and treated for at least six broken ribs. 

Peter couldn’t find it in him to feel sorry about that. 

“Hey,” May nudged his shoulder again and smiled that tired, sad smile of hers that Peter knew too well. “I brought you some food.” 

She had. The paper bag in her hand was turning grey by the grease that was seeping into it and it smelled divine even if it did make Peter’s stomach roil. He didn’t  _ want _ to eat but he also knew he was no good to Harry if he passed out and didn’t fuel his own body. “Thanks.” He took the bag when she offered it to him, cautious even as his stomach roared at the taste. “Any news?” He asked as he always did and May sighed as  _ she _ always did. 

“Not right now, baby.” She grabbed her own food - a salad, definitely healthier than the burgers she had picked up for Peter but he  _ needed _ the calories even if he didn’t actually want them. “Pepper’s on her way over with Morgan and Happy.” 

Too many people that Harry didn’t know. Peter didn’t say it even if he ached to. Harry wouldn’t be  _ happy _ when he woke up even if it was just Peter there. There would be too many questions, too many answers that were hard to find, and too much nonsense that Peter didn’t want him to have to deal with. It had been two days and shareholders of Oscorp were already pounding at Pepper’s lawyer for answers on who exactly would be taking over the business. Harry never wanted it - Peter had  _ always _ known that - but he knew his friend - his boyfriend…they had never talked about that - well enough to know that he would feel nothing but obligated to take control. Peter wanted to tell them  _ no _ . He wanted to grab them all and dangle them over the top of a building and  _ demand _ to know what rights they thought they had to Harry Osborn and why they were so adamant that he waste his life doing something that he never even wanted to do. The worst thing about it, Peter thought with an almost vicious bite of his burger, was that Harry would be  _ good  _ at it. Harry was good with people, good with numbers and facts and nuances that Peter could never understand. He knew how to read a room and pick out the worst variable and exploit it until he couldn’t anymore. He knew when to turn hide and evacuate, when to push and when to pull and Peter  _ hated _ that he now understood that what he thought was simply an innate talent was something that Harry had  _ learned  _ from a young age and had beaten into him until it was something he couldn’t ever forget. 

They had been dealt bad hands - the two of them, but Peter would always rather that he had lost everyone he had than put through the pain that Harry had been made to suffer his entire life.

* * *

Morgan didn’t  _ know  _ Harry - neither did Happy or Pepper - but in the last two days she had brought a different pile of books to sit next to him and read in the best way a six year old could. She sounded out each word as though it was precious and brought the ones with her favorite pictures because Peter had told her when she asked that Harry loved art. She really was the best of both the Starks - whip smart and strong but incredibly caring and perceptive. “Hi Peter!” She ran into the room with her blue sparkling shoes and gave him a great big hug and squeezing extra tight. Peter needed extra hugs, Pepper had told her late one night when Morgan had asked why Peter was so sad, his special friend was really hurt and Peter was scared. “I drew you a picture!” She pulled it out of her pocket where she had carefully folded it and kept it safe for the duration of the ride over to the hospital. 

Ned and MJ had been watching her whenever Pepper or Happy were busy and they usually weren’t Pepper’s first choice but they had turned out to be incredibly good with her. MJ brought puzzles and Women’s History books and Ned brought Legos and video games and boundless imagination. They weaved her stories of Spider-Man whenever she asked and MJ even helped her sketch out her  _ own _ superhero costume for when she was old enough to fight crime with him ( _ make it like daddy’s,  _ Morgan had begged). “A picture! You know I love pictures.” Peter pulled her into his lap and took the offered paper from her suspiciously sticky hands (seriously, why did kids  _ always _ have sticky hands). 

When he unfolded it he nearly cried - Morgan wasn’t exactly the best artist but she tried with all of her six year old determination. She had painstakingly sketched out a crayon drawing of him, Pepper, Happy, May, Morgan  _ and _ Harry at the lakehouse. He didn’t know what they were doing - couldn’t even find the words to ask - but they all had smiles on their faces. “Do you like it?” She asked, leaning over to Harry’s bed to squeeze his cold fingers with her small warm ones. May had explained to her that she couldn’t hug him yet and that, sometimes, holding a hand was good enough too. Morgan took that caution very seriously and tended to hold Harry’s hand the entire visit. 

“I love it.” Peter kissed her on top of her dark hair and tried to mimic the smile she sent his way over her shoulder. “Do you mind if I leave it here, though? For Harry to see when he wakes up?” 

Peter wasn’t sure if Harry would even  _ want _ to see it when he woke up and the bedside table was already almost too full of cards and flowers to fit much else. A card was from Ned and Peter knew Pepper was working tirelessly to get his name on the visitor’s list too. Other than that, though, Peter didn’t recognize any names. Harry had friends in France and, if Peter thought back to the talks they had had in those two weeks he could  _ maybe _ recognize one or two of the cards from there. He placed Morgan’s in the front - where she could see it - and had full intentions of moving it to the back once she left. 

Only it was only a minute after she left that Harry’s breathing changed. 

It was subtle, at first, but Peter was too attuned to his breathing and heartbeat to  _ not _ notice it. His heart rate sped up, just a smidge, and his breathing to match it and Peter thought, for a moment, that Harry was going into cardiac arrest (he had grown too used to the slow, steady beat in his ears to register the increase as anything  _ other  _ than concerning). Pepper was standing right outside the room speaking to the prosecuting attorney and Peter wasn’t really sure which person they were there for -  _ him _ or Norman. Peter  _ had _ assaulted him - had broken  _ six _ of his ribs - but May had said it would be absolutely insane for him to be prosecuted once they looked at what Norman had done to his own child. 

Peter was halfway out of his chair when he noticed Harry’s black eyelashes fluttering over ivory cheeks. They danced across his freckles like ballerinas, startling against the purple of the bruises and oddly artistically beautiful. Peter paused, held his breath as though if he were to breathe then Harry wouldn’t fully wake up, and stared. 

It took Harry three minutes to _ actually _ open his eyes and it was with a long, drawn out and painful sounding moan. When his eyes  _ finally  _ blinked open Peter felt relieved enough that he dropped down heavily onto the uncomfortable chair he spent the last two days practically living in. Peter didn’t know how he forgot how breathtaking Harry’s eyes were. They shut again, for a moment, and then Harry raised a slow and heavy hand to try to pull at the mask the hospital had put on him and Peter only moved then. “Hey,” Peter spoke soft enough to not startle but still loud enough to be heard, scared to touch Harry but knowing he had to. Harry only stopped fidgeting when Peter closed his hand around his wrist, fingers loose and warm against his skin. 

Harry looked almost scared when he saw him before where he was seemed to click in his mind. He melted back against the sheets, fingers desperately tangling with Peter’s and eyes begging for reassurance that Peter wasn’t sure he could give. 

They had known each other long enough to be able to communicate without words. Peter knew every dip, line, freckle, and curve of Harry’s face. He knew when he was nervous he would play with his hands, when he was sad he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, and when he was angry his cheeks got just a little bit more red than they usually were and his eyebrows would furrow  _ just so _ . He probably couldn’t see - he didn’t have his glasses  _ or _ contacts on and Peter wondered - with a small jolt - if he had even seen Norman coming or if his father’s hand had smacked them off. It wasn’t a thought he wanted to have and Peter didn’t welcome it in the least. 

He shook the thought away and settled himself by Harry’s hip, hand still held loosely in his own and he wanted to kiss him but couldn’t with the mask in the way so he settled for pressing his lips to the skin of his knuckles. “You’re okay.” He muttered against the skin and the lie felt like it burned on its way out of his mouth. 

Peter should have pressed the button for the doctor, should have yelled just enough for Pepper or the doctor she was speaking to outside to hear. He should have done a lot more than what he did but, either way, he was happy to wait Harry out. Was more than a little bit happy to let him have a moment to center and reorient himself with the world he was now stuck living in. “You’re _ safe _ .” Peter said after a moment, drawing Harry’s eyes to himself. He smiled perhaps his first real smile in weeks. Bruised and battered, yes but  _ safe _ . For perhaps the first time in his life Peter could guarantee that Harry was  _ safe _ . In that hospital bed with Peter by his side he could, maybe, let the fear go just a little bit. 

Harry didn’t smile back and Peter used his other hand to brush away the salt water tear that dripped down from the corner of Harry’s eye and curved down his cheek. He would be apologizing the first second he could, Peter knew that. Harry was an apologizer and, really, so was Peter. They would be apologizing themselves blue. 

He gave Harry a moment - longer than he should - and gave  _ himself _ a moment to verify that he was, in fact, steady and alive and  _ awake _ before he finally pressed the button by Harry’s shoulder to call in a nurse. A moment, a breath, a kiss to a soft forehead and a grip locked in his own with fragile strength and then  _ finally _ , Peter allowed himself to cry. It was only when the doctor’s back was blocking him from view and Pepper noticed right away even if Harry didn’t - half in and out of consciousness to even be able to pay the doctors and nurses much attention. 

Pepper’s hand was soft in his hair and she turned his face into the fabric at her stomach to hide his relief from sight. Relief, pain… Peter wasn’t sure which he was feeling more at the moment. But he relaxed, he breathed, he  _ felt _ and he thought that maybe,  _ finally _ , things were beginning to look up. 


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're not perfect but... they're getting there.

Harry didn’t want to sleep so he recited the entire French alphabet front and backwards, counted as high as he possibly could in every language he knew, and then moved onto all the different colors and names of paints that he could think of. It worked until his eyes fluttered closed despite himself - being high off painkillers would do that to you - and then, suddenly, the bland white ceiling was replaced with Norman’s crazed smile and the names of paints turned into the sound of his own ragged breathing. Harry shook himself awake, quite physically, and forced himself up against the pillows. 

Weeks. 

It had been  _ weeks _ and he was still plagued with nightmares and day terrors and flinched at any raised voice. 

It was grating on him. 

Harry had never been so easily breakable. Boarding school made him complacent - Harry wasn’t  _ used _ to the apprehension and fear when he was an entire ocean away from Norman’s punishing hand. He had grown comfortable with a guidance counselor that cared perhaps too much and a teacher that noticed the squinting at a board and the way Harry mixed up commonly spelled words. He had grown soft with casual touches from friends and hugs in the hallways and a supportive Pride group. He had stopped looking over his shoulder, had stopped hiding parts of himself away and  _ that  _ was what made him so easy for Norman to break. Four years away was all it had taken for Harry to unlearn some nasty habits. 

Only a few months back and he had relearned all of it. 

Harry avoided Pepper Stark like the plague. He didn’t even really know  _ why _ . She had offered him a home, set up a room on the first floor of her expensive lake-house for him to stay in since stairs were still painfully difficult, and she never pushed him to come out even for meals. He had wished, selfishly, that he had been able to stay at the Parkers apartment - but that didn’t logically make sense since the Parkers were staying at the lake-house themselves. At least Peter was there, Harry told himself while he stared up at the ceiling, and May. Harry knew May and trusted May and with May Parker there that meant Harry didn’t have to have a random nurse coming to check on him every other day. Pepper had the money to be discreet and, apparently, so did Harry now. 

He didn’t know what to think about that. 

His mother died, his father went to jail, and now  _ Harry _ was the sole owner of an entire company at seventeen years old. He didn’t  _ want _ it. He wanted it burned down to the ground as well as the funds that were now solely in his name and accounts. Pepper had said that she would handle it - the lawyers she had on retainer would communicate directly his wishes to the lawyers that Oscorp had on retainer. Harry didn’t know what to do with a company and he wanted nothing more than to let her handle all of it. How upset would Norman be when he found out that it was a  _ Stark _ running Oscorp? 

Harry was almost fooled into being entertained by that thought, only the rock that settled into his stomach moments later was a harsh reminder of what exactly Norman would do if he found out. 

Unfortunately, avoiding Pepper Stark meant that he was also actively avoiding Peter which wasn’t exactly what Harry wanted to do. Well… okay maybe it was. Because Peter was insistent on asking Harry every two minutes how he was feeling and he got that  _ look _ on his face that Harry knew too well was him trying very hard not to ask what had happened. Harry had already told the police everything in much more detail than he ever wanted to - the story ran in circles in his head and the officers asked their questions so many times that their words bled together. Harry had insisted that Peter not be there while the questions were asked - he didn’t think he would be able to tell the story with his big brown eyes staring deep into his soul. As it was, everytime Peter so much as looked at him Harry’s bruises began to itch. 

His jaw ached almost constantly - lucky, the doctors had said, that it hadn’t been fractured. 

Lucky, they said about  _ anything _ . Lucky he woke up, lucky Peter arrived when he did, lucky that his father hadn’t succeeded in killing him like he so wanted to do, lucky it was just a few breaks and bruises and cuts that would turn into scars. 

Luck felt a lot like pain. 

Harry scowled at himself and shifted once more - getting in and out of bed was a chore he wasn’t sure he wanted to do most days. The energy required from his aching body was enough to make him want to just curl up and sleep the day away. May helped him with showers - which was only minorly embarrassing, he had grown up practically at her house and it was literally part of her job - and Harry didn’t want Peter to see any part of his skin that he couldn’t help. He was too bruised, too broken, too  _ hurt _ and he didn’t like to see the way Peter’s mouth twisted down and eyes hardened as though he was blaming himself. 

Most days Peter couldn’t even look Harry in the eye. 

_ That _ , he decided, hurt the most. 

He knew Peter didn’t suddenly stop caring about him - Peter was too kind for that. He also, however, knew Peter as a person - the danger of being friends for so long was that Harry was well aware that Peter was unrightfully blaming himself. He wasn’t hurting Harry purposefully, but rather unintentionally by avoiding his gaze, smiling a pained crooked smile, and holding onto him like he was going to break. Not that Harry could really argue against that, in the long run. He  _ had _ broken, anyway. He was achingly aware of it. But to see it from  _ Peter _ almost hurt more than any punch his father could reign down on him. 

It was only a matter of time before one of them confronted the other. Harry almost wished it didn’t come so soon. 

“You’re still up.” Peter didn’t say it like a question and, well, Harry supposed he didn’t have to. Super hearing was one of Peter’s many  _ new _ talents and Harry could have hated him for it; only one look at Peter’s face told him that he could never hate something so beautiful. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.” 

If Peter had knocked before walking in Harry hadn’t heard it. The habit of leaving his door open was one he couldn’t break so easily. Harry hadn’t closed his door around his father since he was ten and he wasn’t willing to start now. Privacy was something he had never been granted, but May still pulled the door closed until only a sliver of light from the hallway was seen to offer him some imaginary boundary. He appreciated it, even if it made him sweat staring at the back of the door. “So are you.” Harry raised an eyebrow as best he could - even if it pulled at the stitches across his forehead. Everything pulled nowadays, he might as well embrace the pain. 

Peter did that pitiful half smile he was so fond of before walking in a little further. He didn’t sit down, not like Harry wanted him to, but stopped a good five inches away, just out of grabbing range. “Couldn’t sleep.” It was three in the morning and Harry wanted to snap at him and demand to know what was keeping  _ him _ up all night. 

Rude. 

It would be incredibly  _ rude _ to do so. Just because Harry was suffering didn’t mean that Peter wasn’t also in pain. 

It must have been terrible to find Harry the way he had and Harry  _ knew _ that he wasn’t the first person he had held while they were close to death. Still, the selfish thought cut into him like the tip of a blade and he had to bite his tongue in order to not say anything he would regret later. “Sit down?” He asked weakly. 

A part of him thought that Peter wouldn’t accept it. Peter treated him with kids gloves lately, gentle and worried and as though Harry was the most fragile piece of porcelain he had ever laid eyes on. He only ever held Harry’s hand, too cautious of the bandages and bruises to want to touch them. Harry wished he would. He  _ wished _ that someone wouldn’t look at him and see the part of him that had fallen so far from grace and shattered into a million tiny pieces on the floor. “Okay.” Peter said after a moment of staring, his eyes looking down at the way his bare feet scuffed at the rug and shuffled over to the side of Harry’s bed. 

The bed was small - smaller than Harry’s Queen sized mattress back at home - and so they were stuck sitting shoulder to shoulder. Still slightly slumped, Harry was just a little bit shorter than Peter against the pillows and the warmth of Peter beside him only made him slump into his side even more. With gentle fingers - as though he wanted Harry to pull away if his grip was too much - he linked their fingers together and let out a deep breath of what Harry hoped was relaxation. 

It was the closest they had been in  _ weeks _ \- arms linked, palms pressed together, and Harry’s head on his shoulder with Peter’s cheek against his hair. “I…” Harry closed his mouth. He couldn’t think of the words he wanted to say. Couldn’t think of the way to describe how Peter both made him shoot up a guard and tear down his walls.  _ Normal _ . Such a poisonous word and a cop out to describe the way Peter made his heart beat just a little bit faster and skin itch until he pressed his hands on it. Peter hadn’t even  _ kissed _ him in weeks and still Harry’s lips tingled as though he had. An addiction. Peter was the sweetest, most  _ painful _ addiction that Harry had ever been granted. 

“I’m sorry.” The words from Peter caught him off guard, as did the way his voice broke on it’s way out. 

Harry frowned and sat up quicker than he meant to. His ribs protested but Harry shrugged them off and, instead, looked Peter in the face. 

Or, he would have if Peter hadn’t doubled over and covered his face. He hadn’t let go of Harry’s hand, though, so he counted that as a plus. “For  _ what _ ?” Harry knew for what and he hadn’t meant for it to come out as harshly as it had but there was nothing he could do about it now and the damage had already been done. 

Peter didn’t flinch but it was a near thing. “I should have been quicker.” 

“And I shouldn’t have thought that the worst consequence for my actions was going to be a split lip.” Harry didn’t miss the way Peter’s shoulders shuddered but he didn’t pay it any mind. “You didn’t  _ know _ what was going to happen.”

“If I hadn’t left-.” 

“I  _ wanted  _ you to leave.” 

“I could have  _ helped _ you!” 

“You could have been killed.” 

“ _ You _ could have been killed!” 

Harry shrugged as though to say  _ worth it _ and he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the absolutely  _ broken _ way Peter choked on his words. “Listen, Pete.”  _ Pete _ , it was a nickname Peter almost never allowed, but it harkened back on when they were younger and living in much less… stressful times. “You are  _ literally _ a superhero. If you died the world would fall apart.” 

“If  _ you _ died,  _ I  _ would.” Peter looked at him earnestly and Harry wasn’t shocked to see tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Harry thought, perhaps, that this was the first time Peter had looked him in the eye in  _ weeks _ . It was… startling. 

Peter Parker was charmingly attractive even at three in the morning. He had been attractive even with an inhaler, big thick glasses, and  _ without  _ all of the muscle. To be fair, Harry had always known that Peter was something different than a best friend to him. Soulmate, his mother used to say with a tease in her voice. Brother, his father had insisted. You love him, his friend Marco had said when Harry had brought up his biggest regret left back in New York. 

Love. 

Harry had  _ loved _ Peter Parker since the day he had met him. Had he ever lived a day  _ without _ loving Peter? “You wouldn’t die without me.” Harry scoffed because Peter had other people to live for. He had May and Pepper and Morgan and Ned and his friend MJ. Harry only had Peter. He  _ only _ cared enough about one person to live long enough to say goodbye. He wasn’t suicidal, he was practical. If Norman killed him there would only be, perhaps, two people that would mourn his death and then move on. Peter was the only one that Harry had been worried about but Peter would have bounced back. He had a world to protect and a world that loved him. Spider-Man was a hero. Harry Osborn was… a faux celebrity that was born into a status he never even wanted. “Besides my dad you’re all I’ve got.” 

The words only seemed to hurt Peter  _ more _ which was the exact opposite of what Harry actually wanted. He doubled in on himself and groaned loud enough it could have woken up anyone that was nearby. “Harry,” Peter sat up suddenly, desperation in his voice and hands reaching up to grab at his cheeks mindful of the bruises. “You are not worthless. And you didn’t  _ deserve this. _ ”

“Neither do you.” 

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? Peter wished it was  _ him _ that was hurt. He wished  _ he _ had been the one Norman directed his anger and psychosis at. 

Harry regretted a lot of things in his life. He refused to regret getting between his father’s fist and Peter’s body. 

He would take death for Peter to live a thousand times over. 

Maybe Peter accepted Harry’s reasoning, or maybe he hadn’t, either way it was the first time Harry had felt his lips press against his since Peter had left the penthouse in Pepper Stark’s car. Peter kissed him like he had something to prove - like he was  _ begging _ Harry to understand just how much he meant to him. He kissed like Harry was water and he was stranded in a desert with the sun pounding down on them. He grabbed at the ends of Harry’s hair and fisted his fingers at the back of his head. Harry tried to keep up but, for once, Peter set a pace that he couldn’t actually follow. 

Perhaps it was the pain medication that kept him from matching the aggression, or perhaps it was simply because Peter was strong and enhanced, either way, Harry was willingly clay for him to mold. He opened his mouth when Peter pushed closer, grabbed his shirt in his hands and kept him close to his body even if his various injuries were screaming at him to stop. He gave Peter the control he so desperately needed, melted under the press of his hands, and only winced,  _ once _ , when Peter tried to push him down into the mattress. 

Once was enough. 

Peter pulled away quick enough to almost throw himself down on the ground, an apology springing forth before Harry was sure he knew he was uttering it. “Don’t.” Harry ground out even as he pushed a hand against aching ribs and groaned with his head tilted backwards. 

“I’m  _ sorry. _ ” Still Peter said it for the third time. 

“Please stop, Peter.” Harry couldn’t help rolling his eyes when Peter was hovering over him as though Harry was a broken toy on the side of the road. “If I want you to stop I would have told you to.” 

And Peter would have listened. Because Peter was a  _ nice _ guy. He was the sort of guy that Harry had never dreamed he would ever get. All of his other boyfriends had been jerks compared to Peter - well… of course they had been when Peter was who Harry had always measured them up against. “Still, Har, you’re  _ hurt _ .” 

Harry scowled. “I don’t need you to tell me that.” His ribs stopped protesting and so Harry used the grip he still had on Peter’s shirt to tug him closer. 

It was dumb, and Peter could have stopped if he really wanted to. Harry wasn’t that strong to begin with and compared to Peter’s enhanced strength he was nothing. Still, Peter came forward with his head bowed and eyes almost unconsciously glued to Harry’s spit stained lips. He couldn’t help the reaction of his body when Peter looked at him like he was something so incredibly special. “I’ll be gentle.” Peter said instead of whatever insistent denial Harry was expecting. 

Harry almost wanted to tell him not to be, but he didn’t think his body would react well to being pushed and prodded more than Peter had done before so he only nodded. He let his hand drift to the corner of Peter’s throat and felt the way Peter’s pulse sped up at the touch. It was infinitely slower this time, and much less bruising and passionate, when Peter’s lips finally closed over his own. They were soft, yet bitten and red and Peter breathed in sharp when they kissed as though it was the only thing giving him air. 

They had gotten good at this part of their relationship. Had practiced it enough on rooftops to know what they were doing and it was incredibly unfair that Peter was so  _ good _ at it with so little experience. He was a natural at everything, it seemed. Peter didn’t bite for entry this time, but instead only flicked out an almost cautious run of his tongue and he kept his hand strong on the pillow by Harry’s head instead of on his neck or in his hair. He didn’t want to hurt him, and Harry knew that and understood it more than he wished he did. He was grateful for it more than he wanted to vocalize. 

They fell asleep together that night, an hour later with almost no space between them when Harry couldn’t bring himself to pry his eyes back open and Peter had effectively kissed him into oblivion.  _ I love you so much, Harry Osborn _ . 

If he pretended he was asleep then, perhaps, he could convince himself that the words had simply been a part of a dream. 


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao don't write when half asleep friends I'm 90% sure this chapter is terrible.

Harry Osborn broke Pepper’s heart. 

She would be the first to say that she hadn’t quite understood it back when Peter had first come to stay with her and Morgan. He  _ was _ an Osborn, after all, and Pepper had sat through one too many meetings, talks, and galas with Norman to have much respect for him. He had always been cold and calculating, always a little too quick to slide under the line of humane and toy with science in a way that was, sometimes, downright horrifying. Norman had looked down his nose at her the entire time she worked for Tony and then downright disrespected her when she became CEO. 

Pepper had met Elizabeth once or twice and she hadn't had much of an opinion of her. She was absolutely stunning in the way Pepper always wished she could pull off so effortlessly. Long curly black hair, bright green eyes, elegant slim figure and a demure laugh. She had lost the baby weight so fast it was hard to imagine she ever  _ was _ a mother. She never looked a day over twenty, even when she was nearing forty. Not until the cancer. Not until she had lost her own son. 

Pepper had been  _ cautious _ of Harry when Peter talked about him. Tony hadn't spoken to her about the file he had been compiling - she hadn't been impressed with his  _ obsession _ with Norman Osborn and had discouraged it from day one. And, to be fair, a lot of things had stopped being compiled once the Blip happened. Losing Peter had destroyed Tony in a way that Pepper could never fix. She hadn't fully understood it herself until Morgan. Until she had held Peter when he cried himself hoarse over the loss of her husband. 

So, yes, Pepper hadn't been fond of the idea of Harry Osborn being friends with Peter -  _ more than friends _ , May had told her over wine one night just a few months ago. Peter was innocent and precious and had so much potential that an Osborn would love to exploit. 

Peter had grown up with the Osborn's - Tony had seen to it that Pepper knew that. His parents had worked with Norman as old college friends. He had known Harry his entire life. Had  _ loved _ Harry for longer than Pepper had even known Tony. She could say that she understood a love like that but would have been lying. 

Pepper loved Tony even after his last breath and without him she had a gaping whole so big in her chest that she would never be able to fill again. But the  _ love _ that Peter had for Harry was second nature. It was knowing what was needed without words, touching without thought, and communicating with just a glance. It was second nature, non-verbal, and  _ easy  _ in a way that none of Pepper’s relationships had ever been. Tony had been work - worth it, but a labor of love either way. Peter and Harry didn't have to  _ work _ at it the way she and Tony had. They had grown up together, ironed out their rough spots over seventeen years of friendship, and grew into young men that respected everything about one another. Harry hadn't been  _ shocked  _ that Peter was Spider-Man and Peter hadn't been  _ floored _ that Harry had put himself in danger by saying that  _ he _ was Spider-Man instead. 

She hadn't understood it. 

But then she did. 

Harry Osborn broke her heart. 

When Pepper looked at him she didn't see Norman or Elizabeth. She saw  _ Tony _ . 

Pepper had known Tony since he had begun as the CEO of Stark Industries. She saw the damage a father like Howard Stark could instill in his own child. She knew first hand what a mother that stayed would do to the psyche. Tony had been overprotective - almost painfully so - and a drunk. He had been angry and vindictive and had so many shields they were almost impossible to tear down. He had been thrust into the limelight time and time again and it had broken him in irreparable ways. So when she looked at Harry Osborn all she saw was Tony. 

Ridiculous that was what it was. Harry didn't actually look a thing like her late husband and he didn't act anything like him either. He was soft and respectful, he had never once yelled, and the worst thing she had ever caught him doing was shoving his tongue down Peter's throat in his own bedroom. Harry played with Morgan, avoided confrontation like it was going to get him killed (which, thought Pepper, was fair when it  _ almost had _ ) and didn't ask for anything even if he needed it. May said he had always been a sweet boy and Pepper could see the part of him that had been raised by the Parkers and the Leeds. 

The thing was… Harry hadn't  _ cried _ yet. It wasn't Pepper’s place to judge - she had her own problems and couldn't even begin to understand what he was going through - but it seemed odd. He was seventeen and had nearly been killed at the hand of his own father. He was thrust into a world of responsibility and change and had been a  _ pawn _ in a game of chess that was impossible to win.  _ Pepper _ had cried. She had come home from the hospital that first day, curled herself around Morgan, and cried tears that pulled at her heart until she fell asleep. Norman Osborn had  _ destroyed _ something so very pure and Pepper could see it in the way Harry  _ didn't cry _ . 

May said she hadn't seen him even well up with tears during any of the times she had worked on him. Pepper didn't feel right asking Peter the question but she  _ knew _ if anyone had seen it it had been him. 

Harry was avoiding her. 

Pepper wasn't an  _ idiot _ she could tell. He didn't know how to handle her and Pepper was more than a little saddened by that. How horrible must life had been to know that you couldn't trust any adult around you? He seemed to trust May well enough but that was something born out of familiarity. He had practically grown up at May's home -  _ he _ called her Aunt May in the same tone Peter did - but every single adult in his life had failed him. May had told her half drunk the night they had settled Harry into his room at the lake-house that Ben had suspected. He had started an investigation, had gotten child services to look into the Osborns and they had come up clean as a whistle. May herself had let him go home every night and kept silent about the bruises and cuts and the boy slowly pulling in on himself. "I had thought it was just a kid thing," May had admitted with tears dried on her cheek and Pepper’s hand over hers at the kitchen table, an expensive bottle of scotch between them. "I told myself he was just  _ clumsy _ ." 

Pepper hadn't known Harry Osborn for long but she could confidently say that she adored him. He took to Morgan with the patience of a saint and he obviously worshipped the ground Peter walked on - those two things in itself was enough for her. Love was a funny thing, she thought. She had taken so long to fall in love with Tony. She had fallen in love with Morgan before she was born and fallen in love with Peter through stories. She had taken one look at Harry Osborn in a hospital bed and decided that he would have a home with her. It hadn't even been a conscious decision. Pepper didn't even remember making it. But here she was - months later - with a home full of people she could happily consider family. 

She wished she could get Harry to open up though. At least to more than just Peter. 

"What does he like?" Pepper asked almost desperately on a Friday night when Morgan insisted that it was Auntie May that read her the bedtime story she had picked out. Harry had fallen asleep in Peter's lap, unashamed of the blanket Pepper had draped over him and the way Peter's fingers played with his hair. The two of them were on her porch swing (Tony had installed it when Morgan was still a baby as a way to rock her to bed). The stars twinkled above and if Pepper looked quick she wouldn't have been able to know where one of them stopped or began. It was the pain medication that had him so tired, Pepper knew that and was thankful for it. His bruises had all but faded now and it was only the broken ribs they were waiting on to heal. Harry had a few new scars - one on his forehead, one down the length of his left wrist, and one on the right side of his abdomen. 

"Hmm?" Peter hummed and kicked at the porch lightly to keep them swaying, eyes on the stars above but a hand sliding Harry's glasses into the pocket of his sweatshirt. 

Pepper realized how  _ normal _ their physical affection was. Peter and Morgan were perhaps the only people Harry let touch him without flinching but Peter was the only one allowed unrestricted access. They were always touching - be it holding hands, one resting on the other or linked ankles. It was adorable, but also a little worrying. Peter had taken to sleeping in Harry's room at night and Pepper knew her and May would have to talk to them about it. Codependency wasn't okay for either of them but if it helped them sleep who were they to judge? Confusing, Pepper thought. It must be all so confusing to the two of them. And Peter was too nice to  _ not _ sleep in Harry's room if it helped him sleep. But they were  _ teenagers _ \- as May had reminded her - and the longer they slept in the same room the more likely they were to…  _ more than _ sleep in the same room. 

Pepper didn't know how to tell May that they probably already  _ had. _ "Harry." Pepper clarified unnecessarily. "What does he like to do?" 

"Uhm…" Peter's nose scrunched when he thought. "He  _ loves _ French music. Like it's super pretentious." Harry went to school in France - Pepper had read it on his transcripts the lawyers sent over. She would send him back in the fall, if he wanted to go back, to finish out his Senior year. "Anything Disney. He  _ loves  _ Disney." 

Pepper sighed and rolled her eyes at him. Neither of those things were things Harry could  _ do _ . "Peter." She laughed a little and he finally blinked and looked at her. "You like to build things to help calm yourself down, right?" 

"Right." 

"So Tony gave you a workstation. What does  _ Harry _ do to calm down? I want him to feel…  _ safe  _ here." 

"He does!" Peter was quick to reassure. "He really  _ really  _ does."

Pepper smiled at him a little sadly. "Because  _ you're  _ here." Peter flushed as though he knew that himself. "But you can't always be here. Eventually you're going to have to go back home and…" 

"And Harry has to stay." He sounded so upset when he said it, his eyes instead now on the sleeping face of his boyfriend in his lap. Pepper watched him run the pad of his thumb over the raised scar on his forehead and think.

She knew that Peter and May had gotten into one too many fights over where Harry would go once the Spider-Man fiasco cleared up. She had heard it from May  _ and  _ Peter - Peter wanted Harry to go with them and May pointed out that they didn't have enough room for another person. Pepper loved having them at the house and they were more than welcome to stay but May wouldn't take anything she perceived as charity and with Peter starting his own senior year at Midtown it wouldn't make sense for him to transfer to a closer school. "Art." He said after a long moment and with a small smile. "He does art." 

"Like… painting, drawing, studying?" 

"Norman didn't like it." Peter always said Norman's name as if it were the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted. He spit it out as though it was less than dirt. "He made Harry stop but… he  _ loved  _ it. And was really good." 

Art. 

Pepper looked at him sleeping peacefully in the summer air and thought she could see it - the paint smeared on his cheek and graphite on the heel of his hands. 

Well, she knew what she was doing now. 

* * *

It took her a little less than a week to get the room together - it was next to Peter's (Tony's) workshop and down the hall from the room she knew Tony had put together for Harley Keener. She filled the room with everything she could think of - easels and paints and paper - graphite, sketch books, canvas and markers. Peter had helped - had told her Harry's favorite brand of paints and if he preferred cardstock over printer paper. 

And provided a distraction whenever Pepper asked of him. Harry wasn't suspicious and that in itself made her ache. He couldn't even suspect that she was doing something for him simply for the sake of doing it. "He's going to ask what the catch is." Peter warned her and Pepper  _ still  _ wasn't sure how she was going to answer when the question came up. 

May and Peter had taken Morgan on a walk when the room was finished and Harry had just gotten out of the shower from the way his hair dripped droplets of water onto his t-shirt. Now or never, Pepper told herself, and she steeled her nerves. "Hey," she knocked softly on his door and when he looked up it was with a pen in his mouth, a book on his lap, and glasses sliding down his nose. 

He really was gorgeous, she thought, and him and Peter made an absolutely  _ stunning  _ pair. "Hi?" Pepper tried not to read into the question too much and settled for a smile instead. 

"Can I show you something?" 

She knew he agreed only because he didn't know how to  _ disagree _ . She wondered when the last time he had said no to an adult was and then remembered it was what had almost gotten him killed. Norman had asked for Peter and Harry had refused.  _ No,  _ he had said. No, had almost ended his life. 

Still, he followed her down the hall and into the wing of the house where Peter's workshop was. He must have thought that was where they were going because his steps faltered when she stopped, instead, next to the room Pepper had outfitted specifically for him. She let him go first and almost walked into him when he stopped right in the doorway. " _ Quoi _ ?" He turned sharply to look at her, shook himself back into English, and repeated himself. " _ What?" _

"I asked Peter what I could do to help you feel safe here." Pepper explained. "He told me that you were into art." 

"I…" He studied her, blue eyes the color of oceans begging for an answer he would understand. "I'm not allowed to do art." 

Pepper almost cried and she swallowed down the gut reaction that sentence produced. A hug wouldn't be welcome now. Not unless  _ he _ initiated it. "Oh honey." She couldn't help the way her breath left her lungs though, slow and sad. "You're allowed to do  _ anything  _ that makes you happy." 

Harry hadn't cried through meeting with the lawyers, he hadn't cried when Morgan asked him why he was living with them now, and he hadn't cried when May checked his injuries. But now… Pepper saw the way his lower lip wobbled. "I… I  _ can't _ ." He swiped at his eyes and fought to keep his voice even. Pepper’s heart broke for him with every second. 

"You  _ can. _ " 

That must have done it. 

She fell when he did, dropped to her knees even though it hurt to kneel on the wood floor. It must have hurt to cry the way he was now - deep and loud gasps that pulled themselves out of his throat. He reached for her just when she thought she couldn't wait any longer and his arms were stronger than she thought they would be. He melted into her hug though, buried his face into her shoulder and soaked tears into her shirt. He cried and Pepper thought it was for the little boy Norman had pushed away and she cradled him to her chest like he was her own. She should get him to stop - he was going to hurt his ribs - but how could she when this was, perhaps, the first time he had ever allowed himself to  _ feel  _ something for the situation he was in. 

"You're okay, Harry." She said into his hair as he wailed silently into her shirt. "You're okay." She pet his hair like she saw Peter do every night, pressed a kiss to his forehead like she did Morgan and rocked him even though it hurt her knees to stay on them for as long as she was. 

Harry Osborn cried on the day that Pepper Stark realized she had a son. 


	14. Fourteen

Their first time out in public after the entire hurricane of mess that occurred was simple, small, and _monumental_ . It wasn’t to a government building or courthouse or even a coffee shop but, instead, a quiet stroll through Central Park with _Ned_ of all people. 

Peter had set it up and it was stupidly early in the morning but, luckily for Peter, Harry had already been up and chatting with some friends from his old school. It was the first time Peter had seen Harry in the middle of New York City in four long years and he fit in so seamlessly amongst the big buildings and glinting sunlight and honking horns that it felt as though something had clicked inside Peter’s heart. He had missed _home_ like it was a broken limb and now that he was back he felt as though leaving would only leave him with a big gaping hole inside his chest. He had grown up amongst the noise and people - they had embraced him and raised him in the way only a city could. “You fit here,” Harry said with a shoulder bump as they stood in the quiet line at a Starbucks. 

Peter made a show of not understanding him, looked around himself and quirked an eyebrow that had Harry scoffing. “Are you telling me to get a job at Starbucks?” 

“Yes, Parker.” He had been doing well, Peter thought as Harry ordered for the two of them and all but pushed Peter away when he tried to pay. Ever since Pepper had added the art room for him Harry hadn’t been seen without some sort of stain on his skin - be it graphite, paint, or markers. His injuries had all healed, the doctors gave him an all clear except for insisting on a three month check up for his head injury and ribs, and Peter knew Harry was avoiding the upcoming court case as much as _he_ was. His cheeks had color, his eyes sparkled, and he still flinched if anyone made too much noise out of nowhere but he was _better_ . Pepper had given him a haircut so that his black hair looked less shaggy and Peter was only too happy to notice that Harry had stolen one of _his_ Midtown hoodies to go out into public in the first place. 

Peter had gone back to sleeping in his own room most nights, if only to appease May and avoid any awkward second attempts at the sex talk. He was well under the impression of what she didn’t know he knew was best for both of them and they wisely pretended that May _didn’t know_ that Peter and Harry had been getting up to all sorts of things before they had even landed at the Stark home. 

It was weird to sleep without Harry, though. Peter had become so attuned to his breathing, weight, and temperature that sleeping in his own bed felt cold and empty and too quiet by comparison. They settled the best they could - phone calls that linked them through the night even though they were in the same house, and naps during the day with the door open and Morgan stuffed between them. 

Peter was horribly nervous about going back out into the public, though, even if he embraced it all too happily. His name was out there - his identity smeared across papers and social media and secrets blown up in a way that only really happened to people of note. Harry was used to it, so he ignored the public scrutiny in a manner that only someone that had grown up under the eye of the world could pull off. He didn’t make direct eye contact with anyone, walked with his back a little bit straighter and chin held a little higher and smiled a smile so _fake_ that it bordered on plastic. 

Peter hated seeing it on him, but he understood it. He had seen Tony and Pepper do the same. 

He figured he would have to learn, even _if_ his first lesson would be at a New York City Starbucks. “You’re that guy, right?” Asked one of the baristas as they leaned over the counter to hand Harry his tea and Peter his non-caffeinated sugar concoction. He made the mistake of eye contact and the young woman’s eyes shot quick to Harry and then back. “ _Those_ guys? The uh…” 

Harry intervened before Peter could panic and probably just agree and out himself. “Sorry,” Harry smiled his award winning smile and she wavered, just a bit, under the shine of it. “He just has one of those faces.” Harry pulled Peter out by his sleeve and left an incredibly generous tip. They stepped out into the crisp pre-autumn air and Peter wanted to pull his sweatshirt up over his face to hide from the red that was creeping up his cheeks. 

“I don’t like this.” He whined and Harry laughed just a little bit into the rim of the white paper cup he was cradling. “Everyone’s _staring_.” 

And they were. Peter could feel their eyes on him with every second he spent out and in public. There was a reason Pepper had allowed them out, Peter _knew_ that even if he didn’t know why. But he didn’t particularly enjoy it. His Spider sense was going haywire and almost every shred of peace he had felt when first stepping back into the city was shrivelling up and dying in the pit of his stomach. He was nervous, people were staring, and Peter didn’t know if he _could_ protect both Harry and himself if anyone decided to attack. 

He used to feel _safe_ as Peter Parker. It was the joy of a secret identity that no one knew who he was. He would hear people talking about his alter ego in whatever way they pleased and they wouldn’t know that he was standing just inches away from them the entire time. Now, though, he was exposed and Beck had all but ruined all anonymity he had ever had. And _Harry_ had willingly gave up his own to protect Peter. It wasn’t a clear split - more people believed Harry than they did Peter - he was _rich_ , had access to a ridiculous amount of information, was suspiciously “at school” for the past four years, and was already someone the public knew. That Spider-Man could be a nameless teenager from Queens was something no one wanted to think about. 

The fact that the two of them were seen _together_ though… only sparked more controversy. 

Harry lost his teasing smile about a minute into studying Peter. His dark brows furrowed and his forehead creased over his new scar and he huffed, just a little, with a look so incredibly soft on his face that Peter felt like melting. Harry’s hand reached out to smooth over the zipper of Peter’s sweatshirt and he rubbed his thumb softly over the curve of his jaw. It was slowly that Harry pressed their lips together, sure to give Peter enough time to pull away if he wanted to since they were in public. 

Peter let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding through his nose, felt his eyes flutter closed, and relaxed his face into Harry’s hand. Harry’s lips tasted like the overpriced green tea he had been drinking and it mingled with the toothpaste still stuck to Peter’s tongue. The city faded into a dull pulse in the back of his mind and when Harry pulled away it was only so that Peter could hug him close and hide his face from the world against Harry’s neck. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled against the skin there, his drink hanging against his side and his one free hand curled around the back of Harry’s shoulder. 

“You’re fine.” Harry spoke soft enough so that Peter wasn’t even sure he heard him but held on as long as Peter needed to steady himself. “If they’re going to stare, we’ll give them something to stare at.” 

“Where’d you learn that?” Peter snorted despite himself and purposefully trailed his fingers down Harry’s arm to link their hands as he pulled out of the hug. 

“My mom.” Harry didn’t look _sad_ when he said it, but he didn’t look happy about it either. Peter knew Harry missed Elizabeth in a very confusing way but he had also overheard Harry telling May that he wasn’t sure if he _should_ miss her. Elizabeth had indirectly hurt her son by staying with Norman for as long as she had and he had been quiet when May told him that it was okay to be unsure. Peter didn’t know how he felt about Elizabeth either, even if most of his memories tended to center around happy moments spent with her. She had unknowingly betrayed Harry’s trust in a very fundamental way and Peter only wished she were there to be held accountable. 

Ned arriving was what stopped that train of thought from expanding into the dangerous balloon it was bound to be. He yelled Peter’s name from across the street and waved so enthusiastically that he almost smacked a passing pedestrian in the face. If Ned was startled to see Harry he didn’t show it and, instead, all but ran across the street to bump his fist against Peter’s in their signature handshake before pulling him into a hug. Peter felt his arm tug backwards as Harry waited his turn but kept Peter’s hand firm in his own and felt almost smug about the fact that Harry didn’t want to let him go. For Peter’s comfort or his own he didn’t care. Regardless it was nice and comforting and Peter would hold on as long as he wanted him to. 

If Peter was afraid that it was going to be awkward he shouldn’t have worried. Ned pulled Harry in mere moments after Peter and _then_ Harry let go and Peter had to pry his tea from his hands so he didn’t spill it down Ned’s back. They hugged like the lost years meant nothing and everything - Ned had been the first person Harry had ever told about Norman and Ned had kept his secret even if he didn’t know how bad it really was. Ned was soft against all the curved and stabbing edges of both Peter _and_ Harry and he hugged like he could heal all the pieces that had been broken by their combined trauma. 

Peter looked at them and smiled and pretended he didn’t notice the hand Harry used to brush away the tears that had filled his eyes and how Ned didn’t even bother to hide his own but, instead, smiled at the two of them like they were everything he had been missing. 

They settled rather quickly, deciding against staying put with all the eyes on both Peter and Harry and instead walking in the soft breeze of Central Park. Harry offered to get Ned something to drink too but Ned waved him off by sharing Peter’s drink instead (he had tried Harry’s but had decided against it with a gag). They fell into easy banter, Harry square between the two of them like nothing had changed even as they grew up. Ned didn’t ask about Spider-Man, or the press, or the upcoming trial he just filled the silence between words with tales of Midtown, decathlon team, and stories that were embarrassing enough that Peter chased after him to shut him up. Harry told of France, his few friends there, and kept clear of tough topics. 

Peter was thankful for Ned - for the way he didn’t bat an eye at the casual intimacy of his two best friends, of the way he said “knew it” when Harry leaned over to kiss Peter’s cheek before going to the trash. They stayed entirely too long, or maybe it was just long enough, because it was only on the walk home that MJ texted him to ask how he had pulled it off and sent a link to the Daily Bugle with a blurry picture of Spider-Man plastered front and center. He stopped and Harry stopped moments later, eyes curious and face relaxed in a way Peter hadn’t seen in a long time. 

**Spider-Man Sighting Proves Teens** **_Aren’t_ ** **the Masked Menace!**

Below was a picture from the park - Harry between Peter and Ned and their faces unobscured in a way that made it obvious that it _was_ them and not anyone else. The time stamps were mere seconds from each other. “Did you know about this?” Peter waved his phone in Harry’s face and the other boy scowled before stealing it away to _actually_ read it. 

“No?” 

“But you’re not shocked.” 

“No.” Harry shrugged and handed the phone back as though the article wasn’t much of a problem. “I said it before, Pete. It’s a good strategy.” 

“I _know_ that.” Peter argued even if something uncomfortable rolled in his stomach. “I just wish people would run it by me before putting someone else out on the chopping block.” 

“They’re not on the chopping block.” Harry rolled his eyes but linked his arm through Peter’s to ease some of the sting. “They’re removing the possibility of _either_ of us being a masked vigilante by going out in costume. It discredits whatever it is that Mysterious Machine guy said.” 

Peter stumbled. “ _Mysterious Machine_?” 

“Yes,” Harry’s hand grabbed at his own and he tugged Peter bodily forward. “Let’s go, Parker I’m hungry.” 

* * *

It wasn’t the end of it, but Peter let Harry distract him with word play and fighting over who paid for what throughout their day outside of the Stark home. When they arrived back it was with full stomachs and smiles - Peter feeling more optimistic than he had in weeks and Harry noticeably tired. It was, perhaps, the first time that Peter had seen Harry choose to snuggle up next to someone other than him, the way he dropped himself onto the couch next to where Pepper was curled up. He didn’t even know if Harry _meant_ to - he started out just next to her with his head resting on the back of the fluffy leather couch before it just sort of… slipped onto Pepper’s shoulder as she scrolled through whatever she was looking at on her tablet. 

That was another development, Peter thought, Harry’s newfound relationship with Pepper. There was a trust there - he was no longer outright avoiding her but, instead, seemed to seek her out during quiet moments during the day. He always brewed her a cup of tea when he was making his own, he gave her unrestricted access to his art, and Harry was a little too excited to hear that she also spoke fluent French - even if it was a bit rusty compared to his. It put Peter’s worries at ease about leaving Harry, at least a little bit. Pepper took to him like he was always hers and it was only too obvious that Harry soaked up the attention like he had never been given it. Peter watched as Harry only tensed for a moment when Pepper’s hand went to his hair before he relaxed against her shoulder. “How was Ned?” May asked from the smaller arm chair and moved herself, just a tad, so that Peter could stuff himself next to her. 

“Good.” Peter kissed her cheek and let her fuss for a moment before pulling out his phone to show her the article MJ had sent. “You guys have anything to do with this?” 

May didn’t even pretend to be shocked and Pepper only laughed. “It was Harley’s idea, really.” Pepper shrugged off the blame with a wave of her hand. It was Morgan’s nap time and, Peter noted as Harry’s eyes slowly drifted closed, it seemed it was nearing Harry’s too. He might have been given a clean bill of health but the doctors had warned that the head injury he had suffered may make it so that he tired out easier until his head had time to _fully_ heal from the trauma. That mixed with whatever medication the psychiatrist Pepper had begged him to see had given him was bound to tire him out easier than usual. 

“Harley?” Peter scrunched his nose. The bot that had been in Tony’s computer? 

It wouldn’t shock him if Tony _had_ created another AI that could think on a complex level but the fact that it would care enough about Harry and Peter to _help_ was… a little odd. And who was in the suit? It hadn’t been Peter and Peter _knew_ it hadn’t been Harry. His nerves prickled moments before he heard a voice that he didn’t recognize from behind him. He tensed until May’s hand rubbed gentle circles in his knee. 

“You know,” Peter whirled around and had his fingers resting on his web shooters before he could stop himself. A blonde boy - _taller_ than Peter and in ripped jeans and scuffed shoes that had that playful _annoying_ look on his face that looked almost too similar to the one Tony used to wear - rested against the doorway with a screwdriver bouncing against the skin of his arm. “Talkin’ about people when they’re not here is considered rude, Pep.” 

Pepper rolled her eyes but kept her gaze soft on Harry’s relaxed face and hand running through his hair. “Peter, Harley, Harley, Peter.” She waved between them and when her eyes finally looked at anyone it was Peter. “Harley’s who Tony left in charge of the Spider suit.” 

_Oh_. 

That… made more sense than a bot. 

“You’re not a bot.” Peter blurted before he could stop himself but stood up politely to shake his hand. 

Harley laughed and it was louder than any laugh Peter had heard in the Stark household. Harry jumped, just a little, and blinked his eyes open over at the two of them, a frown between his eyebrows. “And you’re not randomly lookin’ for porn.” 

Instantly, Peter’s face turned red and he sputtered for words. May choked on the water she was sipping and Pepper looked only mildly entertained. A slow, dangerous, smile was curving up Harry’s lips and Peter didn’t know which to deal with first - what Harry was inevitably about to say or the absolutely rude entertainment on Harley’s face. “No!” Peter said with a point between the two of them and succeeded only in making his own face shine more red with Harry bit on his lip and all Peter could think about was _porn_ thanks to Harley’s words. “It… it’s nice to meet you.” He finished lamely with a hand covering his face from view. 

“You too, Spider-Man.” Harley shook his head before shifting his weight just enough to show he was looking to move. “If you have a sec,” he waved behind him to the hallway. “I got some stuff for your suit I wanted to run by you.” 

Peter looked at Harry who rolled his eyes with an expression that told Peter to all but get out and followed only glanced back once, something in his stomach flaming at the way Harry seemed to purposely look up at him through dark eyelashes. Pepper interrupted with something that had Harry laughing and May moving to sit on the other side of him. 

Safety. 

It looked good on him. 


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be smut this chapter - if you're uncomfortable with it skip the forth page break. It's terribly written but it's still there!
> 
> This entire story is a dedication to Maddy: baby girl without you I wouldn't have been able to emotionally handle this whirlwind. Thank you so much for helping me through it and reminding me to take breaks. I utterly adore you.

“Are you going to testify?” 

Harry thought he was going to scream if Peter didn’t take his answer for what it was without pushing. He didn’t _ mean _ to be annoying and Harry knew that, but Peter was pushing in a way that was firmly uncomfortable. The state’s prosecutor had informed Pepper and Harry about the upcoming trial date quicker than he wished they had. Harry had absolutely  _ no _ intention of flying back to New York City to testify against his psychotic father in the child abuse case. Unfortunately, as the prosecution told him, he didn’t exactly have much choice. Without his testimony the chances of Norman Osborn going free were higher than Harry wanted to acknowledge.  _ He _ was the only one in the apartment with Norman that day so therefore it was his word against his father’s - no matter how much evidence the prosecution had piled up on him. Norman had good lawyers, he could  _ afford _ good lawyers, and he would use them as well as he could. 

Still, Peter’s pestering was getting on Harry’s nerves. Pepper told him to take his time in deciding what to do and Harry was  _ trying _ but the spoiled brat in him wanted to yell a no every time Peter opened his mouth to ask.  _ Again _ . 

Harry considered telling Peter that the video had frozen instead of answering, but he was only too aware that Peter wouldn’t believe him. Harry was horrible at lying to Peter - avoided it at all costs - and Peter knew too much about technology to even give Harry the benefit of the doubt on his video feed. Stark technology wasn’t about to start glitching on a video call between New York City and France. “Mon dieu.” Harry muttered, much to the chagrin of Marco - his roommate - who was pretending horribly to not be listening in on the conversation. “I don’t  _ know _ , Peter.” 

He had said it so many times that he felt like he was a broken record and he  _ knew _ that Peter meant no harm by asking it so many times. But everytime he asked Harry felt like he was thrust back in time to lay out on the guest bedroom floor with blood soaking his tongue and all Harry could remember feeling at that time was that he was about to die. He didn’t  _ like  _ remembering that. He didn’t enjoy the cold stone of acceptance that had settled itself into his bones that he  _ had _ to acknowledge if he thought about it. “The trial’s in like two weeks, Har.” Peter said from the video in front of him and Harry considered, maybe, just slamming the laptop shut. 

He would regret it in a heartbeat if he did, though, so Harry, instead, groaned into the palm of his hand and flipped off Marco for laughing behind his back. “The more you ask me the more I want to say no.” He saw Peter stiffen, his hands tugging at the sleeves of his shirt and biting at the pink of his lip. Telling Peter Parker to be  _ silent _ about something he cared about was like telling clouds not to rain - it was going to start pouring out eventually. 

Unfortunately for Peter, Harry was good at distractions and he was more than practiced enough to know exactly  _ how _ to avoid a conversation he didn’t want to have. He had been trained in avoidance tactics and usually he didn’t bother using them on Peter but he  _ could _ and he  _ would _ if he felt he had to. And this was one of those times. Peter was going to push and Harry was  _ going _ to end up losing his temper if Peter pushed just a little bit more. He didn’t  _ want _ to lose his temper. Harry had inherited his father’s quick to be lit fuse and, usually, he was much better at smothering the flame before it grew too big. But it was  _ midnight _ , Harry had been up since five in the morning to get ready for classes and Peter was entirely too awake for Harry’s half asleep brain to have any  _ real _ conversation. “Harley told me he was building you a car.  _ Why _ would you let him build you car?” 

“I’m not  _ letting _ him build me anything.” Peter pouted just like Harry knew he would and if he recognized the change in conversation he knew better than to push it. “He’s like Tony, I swear. If he doesn’t have something to do with his hands he will literally go insane.” 

“Mm,” Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds like you.” 

Peter glared at him but it held no heat and Harry saw him glance down at the clock in the corner of his screen before looking back up and studying Harry’s face. “You should go to bed, Har.” 

Harry hummed - he probably should but that didn’t mean he was  _ going  _ to. Even if he got off the call he knew Marco would keep him up to chat about the concert he had coming up with his acapella group. And, between the two of them, Harry would much rather stay up talking to Peter than stay up talking to Marco - even  _ if _ Marco was probably his best friend in France. “Tomorrow's Saturday.” Harry waved off his concerns with what he hoped was an easy smile. 

“ _ Today’s _ Saturday.” Peter corrected with a soft look. “You look exhausted.” 

“Thank you.” 

“It wasn’t a compliment.” 

“Well, I took it as one so… what are you going to do about it?”

Peter laughed and mused his hair in the back the way that always made Harry long to be beside him so he could smooth it back down. Peter was devastatingly handsome, even from the other side of a computer screen. Harry didn’t quite understand how no one had snatched him up before Harry had gotten him - Peter was the entire package. Smart, attractive, attentive,  _ and _ a superhero. He was strong and  _ safe _ and he had the biggest heart Harry imagined a person could. “Why don’t you want to testify, Har?” 

And  _ that _ was the danger of Peter being stupidly smart and Harry had forgotten, somehow, that his ability to deflect had never worked on Peter. Fight or flight had Harry’s hackles rising and Harry had been lulled into a false sense of calm - Peter himself was pretty damn good at manipulation and Harry had forgotten  _ that _ too. The only difference was that Peter never knew when he was manipulating. How would he when he was too painfully kind to ever purposely hurt someone? “ _ Peter _ .” It came out as the warning it was. 

Harry didn’t want to fight. He was  _ tired _ of fighting. 

But Peter wasn’t a fan of Harry’s avoidance thus far and, really, he had a point. The trial was two weeks away, Harry was going home in one, and even Pepper would start hounding him for a yes or no soon. 

The problem, Harry decided, was that  _ he _ was painfully selfish whereas Peter was ridiculously self _ less _ . Peter would have agreed no matter what degree of pain it caused him because it was the  _ right thing to do _ . Harry… was having trouble getting past the thought that he would have to say it all again. 

Harry wasn’t  _ brave _ , he didn’t  _ want _ to see his father ever again and he didn’t  _ want _ to have to relive and recount the play by play of every injury he had ever received.  _ It’ll make you stronger, _ Peter would say. Harry didn’t  _ want _ to be stronger, though. He was happy enough to ignore everything that had happened and focus only on the good that had come out of it. “You  _ know _ it’s the right thing to do.” 

He  _ did _ know, just like Harry knew he would say yes the moment he touched down in New York. Admitting it was another thing, though. It felt like Harry was pulling at just closed scabs and he  _ really _ didn’t like that it felt as though Peter’s hand was the one guiding him to rip them off. “Please just  _ let it go _ .” 

Harry noticed Marco shift just a bit from his spot behind him and he knew if he looked it would be to Marco’s concerned grey eyes. He would leave if yelling started, even if it was just to stand in the hallway and wait it out. He wouldn’t get involved unless he had to, though, and Harry almost hated him for that.  _ He _ would never hang up on Peter, but perhaps Marco could for him and end the conversation before it even started. “Harry,” The way Peter said his name usually didn’t make something like shame swirl in his stomach. “He  _ hurt _ you.” 

Harry was  _ used  _ to the pain though and the past few months he thought he had made  _ good  _ progress. He could sleep alone without nightmares, his body didn’t ache every ten minutes, and he never felt more free than when he was drawing but what they were asking…. It felt ridiculously  _ unfair _ that he was expected to take ten steps backwards just to dish out what the courts deemed as  _ justice _ . He wasn’t  _ good _ , he wasn’t  _ okay _ , and even if his father was behind bars Harry would never  _ be okay _ . “I know.” 

Because he  _ did _ know. He knew it intimately. 

“He could have  _ killed you _ .” 

“I  _ know _ .” 

“He deserves to be punished for that.” 

“Peter,  _ I know _ .” 

“Then why won’t you testify?” 

“Because  _ I don’t want to! _ ” Harry didn’t know which was speaking, his anger or his fear, but they warred for control in his chest so much that it felt as though he had broken ribs all over again. Almost against himself he felt the sting of tears prickle at the back of his eyes and he blinked, hard, to try and dispel them. Peter, on the other side of the screen, was still looking at him as though Harry was the most precious thing in the world and not the twisted up and chewed out monster he actually was. “And I know it’s  _ stupid _ , and  _ selfish _ and  _ wrong _ , but I don’t  _ want to!”  _

“I don’t want you to, either.” Peter looked so earnest, brown eyes wide and compassionate. “ _ But _ if it’s the right thing to do-.” 

“ _ Fuck _ you’re right and wrong, Peter!” 

“Harry-.” 

“ _ You _ told me I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.” 

“And you don’t have to, Har, but-.”

“He is my  _ father _ !” The crux of the problem plunged them into silence and tore itself out of the pit of Harry’s throat like a war cry. Norman hadn’t always been terrible - there had been times where he had gone out of his way to help Harry before the psychosis set in. He hadn’t liked  _ art _ but he had encouraged it as a hobby up until Harry said he wanted it as a career. He had fought the board to make sure they were supporting the right groups once Harry told him he was gay. He had checked in on Harry’s studies, had read him bedtime stories and held him through nightmares. He had  _ cared _ and even when he had been cruel it had come from a place of love - twisted and mangled as it was. “He is my  _ father _ .” 

Peter didn’t understand. How could he? He had been gifted Richard Parker with his soft words and ready hugs. He had been raised by Ben Parker who patched up skinned knees and called him  _ squirt _ and encouraged anything that made Peter happy regardless of if it was a good idea or not. He had been found by Tony Stark and his loud guidance and refusal to pressure more than he needed to. Peter didn’t  _ understand _ and so when he said, “Norman Osborn is  _ nothing _ that deserves your mercy.” he didn’t know the way the words cut deep and tore across a wound Harry had thought he closed. 

Because Norman Osborn was the only father Harry had ever had. He hadn’t been a  _ good _ one, but he had been his father all the same. He had called Harry  _ son _ . What Peter was asking, what everyone was asking, was that Harry forget the man that tucked him into bed when he was eight and scared that daddy was going to die in a plane crash just like Richard and Mary Parker. “Funny,” Harry regretted the words before they were even out of his mouth. “He would say the same thing about you.” 

Peter flinched, just enough for Harry to see, and pushed his lips together tight enough they turned white. “What you’re asking me to do,” Harry continued regardless of the storm of anger on Peter’s face. “Is to go against  _ everything _ that I’ve ever been taught. My  _ dad _ wasn’t yours. He wasn’t  _ perfect _ but he was still my dad.” 

“A  _ father _ doesn’t hurt their children. Norman’s a coward.” 

“And you wear a  _ mask _ to face your problems, what makes  _ you _ so different?” 

The problem with knowing each other for so long was that Harry knew exactly  _ where _ to cut to cause the most pain. He would regret it the moment they hung up. He would agonize over it for the next week and ignore the way his phone would buzz for attention until Marco took it away from him because Peter was entirely  _ too forgiving _ and Harry was a mess of anger and fear and  _ regret _ that swirled so deep he didn’t know how to quiet it once it had bubbled up. 

“What makes  _ you _ different?” Peter spit back and, unlike Harry, his instant regret shined on his face. He groaned and pulled at his hair. “ _ Shit _ , Harry-”

But Harry had heard enough. He slammed the laptop shut and threw it across the room until it banged the corner of the screen against the wall and bounced on Marco’s vacant bed. He had screwed up and he hugged his knees to his chest like the strength of them would make the words disappear. It started like an alarm - soft as a whisper and louder with each second of laboured breath that pulled itself out his chest. High laughter that sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard and Harry could  _ feel _ his father’s hot breath against the back of his neck no matter how he curled in on himself, nails digging into the hair above his ears and palms pressing tight against them like they could stop the laugh he  _ knew _ was only in his head. “Oh,  ma chérie.” Marco knew better than to touch him but, instead, sat beside him patiently until Harry fell to the side, eyes red raw and ribs aching like he had just gone another ten rounds on the receiving end of his father’s unrelenting fists. 

* * *

Harry avoided Peter for an entire week until the plane touched down in New York. It felt like stepping back into the ring of a fight - apparently someone had let it slip that Harry was coming home for the trial because the reporters ambushed him before he could even get out of baggage claim. Harry had grown up with reporters - had them at birthday parties and dates and every step of his life. Still, the flashing lights caught him off guard and the shouts of his name had him flinching more than he wished they did. “Mister Osborn, any comment on the upcoming trial of your father?” 

“Harry, Harry, over here! How do you feel about your father’s accusations that you’re making up the abuse allegations?” 

“Harry! Where’s your boyfriend?” 

“Mister Osborn! How do you feel about Peter Parker being called as a witness in your father’s trial?” 

“ _ What _ ?” Harry whirled around but couldn’t locate the reporter that had shouted the question. The answer, however, seemed to just make them all shout louder. His head was starting to hurt and he could feel something close to panic start to swirl in his stomach as they seemed to close ranks around him until a hand closed around his wrist and  _ yanked _ him backwards. Harry would recognize the back of that head anywhere - curly brown hair more familiar than his own straight black and broad, strong shoulders that physically pushed a photographer out of the way.

“Back off.” Peter said it low enough that it was obvious it was a threat and bodily shuffled Harry backwards until his back hit a hidden alcove and the reporters were left to the mercy of whatever security Pepper had sent. He whirled around fast enough Harry almost bumped heads with him - Peter’s brown eyes were like a punch to Harry’s gut and every time he looked at them they stole his breath. Peter crowded him back until Harry was effectively cut out of view, his arms pinned to his sides and Peter’s own bracing him on either side. “ _ Harry _ .” 

Harry looked at him and could only see the way Peter’s face had looked when he had compared him to his father. They didn’t  _ fight _ . It wasn’t something either of them did - they had known each other too long for even mild disagreements to be full blown fights. And, Harry thought,  _ fights _ usually didn’t end well for him. How did someone have a fight that didn’t end with pain? Still, if there was anything Harry had learned, it was that once avoidance failed him it was best to apologize  _ before _ someone had to explain why they were angry. And Peter  _ deserved _ to be angry. “I’m sorry.” 

Peter blinked and he didn’t look anything other than sad. His mouth was turned downwards, his eyebrows furrowed like they did when he was trying to avoid crying, and his hands were shaking. “Why are you apologizing?” He asked it soft enough that Harry could have missed it. 

“You’re… angry.” 

“I’m  _ sad _ .” Peter’s head fell forward and he pushed it against Harry’s shoulder long enough to feel him tense and then pulled away so quickly he almost tripped over his own two feet. “God,  _ Harry _ did I scare you?” 

The thought itself was so incredibly laughable that Harry couldn’t help the noise he made. “ _ No _ .” Because Peter wasn’t  _ scary _ . How could Harry be afraid of him when he had pictures of him with chocolate smeared on his face? 

“But you-.” 

“Peter.” He reached out to grip Peter’s elbows and pulled him back in. “You don’t scare me.” 

The implication was clear.  _ Peter _ didn’t scare him, but Harry had a lot of ingrained reactions to anger that he didn’t know how to shake. Peter’s shoulders slumped and, slowly, as though reaching out to a spooked animal, rested a hand on the curve of Harry’s jaw and looked up at him through his eyelashes. “I’m sorry,” Peter murmured, his breath curling over Harry’s lips and fanning out under his nose. “I shouldn’t have pushed.” 

“You shouldn’t have,” Harry agreed slowly, because admitting it didn’t  _ feel _ like a bandage being pressed to a wound. “But… I needed to hear it.” Peter blinked at him and  _ finally _ pressed his other hand to the curve of Harry’s back to pull him into a tight hug. “You’re not my father. I’m  _ sorry _ .” Harry could have cried because in Peter’s arms was probably the one place he had always felt safe and whole. Instead he swallowed it down, grabbed Peter tight around the waist, and buried his face in the junction of his shoulder. Peter smelled like the city - cinnamon and fried food and oil and he pressed a hard lingering kiss to the side of Harry’s head. 

“You’re not your father, either.” Peter pulled away enough to look at him when he said it and he must have caught the fear there - the worry that Harry had that he  _ was _ Norman since he was his father’s son. He had cut deepest the way Norman had taught him to. “You know you’re not him, right?” 

Harry nodded even if he wasn’t sure and Peter didn’t push that time but, instead, pressed a soft kiss to the center of his mouth. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut despite himself and he leaned in for more when Peter pulled back. They didn’t dissolve into making out in public, but Peter  _ did _ whimper just a little at the way Harry brushed his bottom lip with his teeth before pulling back. “Missed you, Parker.” 

“Missed you more, Harry.”

* * *

The courthouse was, thankfully, not surrounded by the press and the prosecutor - Angela she had told Harry to call her - had assured him that his status as a minor would stop the press from being present during the actual court proceedings. Harry hadn’t slept the night before, even with Peter sharing his bed and Morgan curled up between them. He hadn’t slept that morning when Pepper asked him if he wanted to take a nap with her. He couldn’t stop  _ shaking _ even if it was in his best suit that he was dressed and he played with the sleeves and cuffs to keep his hands busy. Peter had been pacing the length of the hall until May had pulled him to a stop and into a hug. 

_ All _ of them were testifying - Peter, May and Pepper. They had been there for the aftermath, after all. Had…  _ found _ him. 

Harry was the star witness though. The one the trial really relied on. 

It was enough to make him want to be sick. 

Which he had. 

Three times already. 

His social worker was an older man - Randy Davidson - and him and Angela had walked him through the process so many times that Harry could repeat it in his sleep. Still, though, it felt like too little preparation. 

May and Peter had already testified - they had been called earlier in the morning and Peter had worn the suit Pepper had  _ made _ him get that fit him perfectly and, in any other circumstance, Harry would have pulled him into a locked room to get up to some trouble. But, as it was, Harry was a little too nervous to do anything other than fake a smile when Peter looked his way. Pepper had purposely not brought Harry to the courthouse when Peter or May was on the stand and her and Randy had insisted that Harry still could back out if he wanted to. 

And  _ god _ did he want to. 

His fear was like an ocean instead of him and Harry couldn’t stop picking at his nails even as Pepper pulled his hand away and into her own. He stared at the floor between his dress shoes like it held the answers for him and his leg only stopped shaking when Peter knelt in front of him. He was wearing Ben’s watch - Harry recognized it from the leather strap. He had been with Peter and May when they picked it out at the mall when they were nine. Ben had loved it. He supposed that wearing the watch made Peter feel more brave because Peter was  _ also _ strapped with his web shooters around his wrists. He squeezed Harry’s knee and said nothing, but let Harry lean forward to rest his forehead against Peter’s. He rubbed up and down his thigh, creasing the pants, and counted the breaths between them in a soft whisper. 

Harry wished his mother was there. 

He wished Ben was there, that his father wasn’t an  _ asshole _ , that Peter didn’t know what was happening, that he was back at the lakehouse playing dragons and robots with Morgan or sitting next to Harley in his workshop sketching while the other boy hummed to whatever shitty indie music was playing and Peter raved at them to  _ shut it off. _ He wished he was back in France watching Marco’s group perform or, even, that he was back on the penthouse rooftop where he could feel the wind whip through his outstretched arms and longed for it to carry him away. 

But he opened his eyes at his name and he was still there - Pepper’s hand wrapped tight around his and Peter’s eyes red around the rims but staring into his like  _ Harry _ was the one holding him up. The bailiff stood just outside the door, eyes on them and Randy with a beckoning hand outstretched in Harry’s direction. 

He didn’t think he could breathe. 

He stood up only because Pepper and Peter did, her hand still around his tight and Peter’s lips still framing out numbers. Harry almost turned tail and ran out the door, he almost dropped to the floor in a dead weight and he almost  _ screamed _ like the child he felt like he was but, somehow, they got him to the door and Randy’s hand replaced Pepper’s at the front. Peter didn’t let go and Harry didn’t  _ want _ him to even if the bailiff would have to tear them apart. May pulled Peter and Randy pulled Harry and Harry didn’t want to  _ look _ but he had to in order to walk. 

Norman was sitting at the table and his vision dangerously tilted sideways. “You’re okay, Harry.” Randy said in the din of the room. Twelve unfamiliar faces sat to his right, the judge - a man with greying hair and long black robes - sat in front of them and Angela met Harry and Randy at the end of the walkway between the two rows of seats. Harry didn’t have to look to know that Pepper, May  _ and _ Peter were sitting there. Silent guards. 

“Are you ready?” Angela asked even though she  _ knew _ that Harry would never be ready. She kept her eyes kind and her mouth wasn’t set in a smile but rather a small grimace. It hadn’t been an easy trial then. But why would it? Why would Harry expect it had been? Norman wouldn’t  _ give up _ and there was no way in hell he wouldn’t fight tooth and nail until he couldn’t fight anymore. 

Harry nodded, didn’t even remember swearing to tell the truth, and couldn’t look away from his father’s face even if he wanted to. Norman’s eyes were captivating and dark and held just enough of a spark of recognition that Harry knew he had to be on some sort of antipsychotic medication. He looked older than Harry remembered him being and the suit he was wearing hung a little bit too loose on his sides. Gone was the maniacal grin that made the corners of his mouth bleed but there was no remorse there either. 

Harry didn’t know what he expected but Norman looked  _ old _ . His lawyer - Mister Briant - was someone that Harry had known since infancy but even  _ he _ didn’t look at Harry with even a hint of sadness. Norman had no supporters behind him, had no one that had publicly come out on his side and that was a  _ good thing _ but, somehow, it just felt infinitely sad. “Harry,” Angela started with her heels clicking on the floor and pen in her caramel colored hands. “Can you please tell us what you remember happening on June 13th?” 

He didn’t  _ want  _ to and it took more effort than he wanted to admit to tear his eyes away from his father’s and back to Angela’s. Harry hated being the center of attention. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. “Harry,” Angela repeated and Harry felt like she was talking to the seven year old in him, hiding in his mother’s closet against her silken dresses with hands covering his ears while Norman beat her so loud she screamed. “I know this is hard and you can take all the time you need.” 

He found Peter behind her - he had never told Peter everything that happened and he didn’t want to. Harry’s eyes flickered to Pepper and stayed there.  _ Her _ , he could tell. She had heard it all before - had been there when Harry met with Randy and Angela only earlier that week to walk him through the proceedings. She offered him a wobbling smile, held his gaze, and didn’t once look away. He leaned closer to the microphone and, for the first time in a long time, told the truth.

* * *

Harry had cried entirely too many times for one day and he refused to do it again in the privacy of his own room. Not that he would be alone, anyway, Peter hadn’t left his side since Harry had been taken off the stand - had met him at the gate when Harry stumbled his way over on wobbling legs and a voice that didn’t want to talk anymore. The defense had been grueling - Angela had called for objections so many times it made his head spin and the entire time Norman hadn’t looked at him once. Harry had broken exactly two times - once when Angela asked about his mother, and the last time right before he had been told that he was dismissed.  _ You’re my father! _ He had screamed at Norman.  _ Why won’t you look at me?! _ It hadn’t gotten him a reaction but he hadn’t really expected one. 

They had gone back to the lake house in near silence, his eyes dry from too many tears, Peter’s hand between both of his, and Pepper brushing the hair off his face whenever it fell against his skin. Harry didn’t think he would have been able to stay for the rest of the trial even if he wanted to and Harry  _ really didn’t want to _ . 

Pepper and May had dismissed Harley from babysitting duty and taken Morgan with them to sit out by the fire but Harry hadn’t been able to will himself to move since laying down on his bed. 

Peter hadn’t left his side since. 

He kept  _ looking _ at Harry. It was odd - as though Harry was simultaneously the most beautiful and painful thing he had ever seen - the way Peter twisted his hands and refused to come closer than the foot of the bed. Harry knew that Peter was remembering his own June 13th and he wanted nothing more than to wipe those thoughts out of both their minds. “Pete.” His voice sounded horrible when he spoke but Peter still looked up from where he had been staring at his hands and quirked a half smile. “Come here.” Harry waved him lazily forward but, still, Peter didn’t come much closer. 

Harry rolled his eyes and sat up so that they were, at least, the same height. He placed both hands on Peter’s shoulders, wrapped his arms tight around his neck, and  _ pulled _ . It worked, even if Harry knew it shouldn’t have, and Peter fell on top of him with only a small puff of breath.  _ He _ had cried plenty too - Harry had felt his tears soak into his shoulder and had seen May, more than once, pull a handkerchief out of her pocket book. Harry looked up at him, tilted his head so that Peter’s eyes looked more light brown than dark, and weaved fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck to strong arm him into a kiss. 

The breath Peter let out was slow and controlled and Harry didn’t miss the way his shoulders dropped about three inches from where they had been tensed at his ears. His hands curled into fists on the pillow by Harry’s head, but his body sunk down heavy onto Harry’s own. The kiss was lazy and slow, Peter’s mouth moved over his like Harry’s mouth was his favorite food, and Harry wouldn’t let him up even if he tried. Peter’s weight was comfortable on top of him, his leg fit perfectly between Harry’s own, and with them both still being in suits absolutely  _ nothing _ was left up to the imagination. 

Harry hadn’t  _ meant _ for it to get as heavy as it did - really he just wanted Peter’s hands  _ on him _ to remind him that he was whole and real - but he wasn’t about to complain that they did. He couldn’t remember which one of them had deepened the kiss, but, regardless, he had keened  _ high _ when Peter’s tongue had started tracing a map of his mouth. He slid his hands down to Peter’s hips, pulled him forward enough that their groins brushed together and would have done more if Peter hadn’t reacted so quickly to grab his wrists in his hands and shove his arms up and over his head. He was panting - they both were, breath puffing against each other’s cheeks and chests heaving - and Peter  _ looked _ wrecked, but he also was looking at Harry as though he was about to break in half. “Sorry, I shouldn’t…” 

If Peter wanted to stop they could stop - Harry was never someone to push and he would  _ never _ push Peter - but it was obvious he didn’t. His eyes kept straying back to Harry’s lips, his hands were shaking from where he was working so hard to keep Harry’s off him, and if Harry were to look  _ down _ he could see the very obvious tent in Peter’s tailored dress pants. He couldn’t help licking his lips and he didn’t pretend to miss the low whine Peter unintentionally let out when he saw it. “You really  _ should _ .” Harry emphasized by pushing his own hips upwards and was more than a little elated with the way Peter’s eyes almost rolled all the way back into his head. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Peter said through gritted teeth and Harry commended him for his control because  _ Harry _ certainly had none. 

“Peter Benjamin Parker.” Harry was desperate and it showed in the way his voice cracked. “If you don’t _fuck_ _me_ , I might literally break up with you.” 

He wouldn’t and Peter  _ knew _ he wouldn’t, but still it seemed to do the trick in lessening at least some of the tension Peter had let build back up. He laughed and it lit up his entire face. “Did you just  _ full name me _ and ask for sex in the same sentence?” 

“ _ Yes _ .” 

“Oh my god.” Peter kissed him, though, at the corner of his mouth and let go of his hands, his own  _ finally _ wrapping around Harry’s back to pull him up and another firmly drifting to grip at his hair. “You’re so  _ spoiled _ Harry Osborn.” 

Harry laughed against Peter’s lips and smiled for what had to be the first time that day that didn’t feel forced. “What are you going to do about it, Peter?” 

Peter groaned and buried his face in Harry’s shoulder. “You’re a  _ menace _ .” 

“And  _ you _ want it.” Peter stole Harry’s breath by biting at the skin of his neck, rolling it between his teeth and then smoothing over the skin with the tip of his tongue. He tugged at Harry’s hair sharply to give himself more access and only sat up long enough for Harry to push his dress shirt off his shoulders and throw it in the general direction of the floor. Harry used the distraction to his advantage and Peter  _ could _ have stopped him if he wanted to but he went easy enough to his back and whatever protest he had died on his lips as Harry kissed along his erection through his pants. 

Harry let the swears Peter muttered fall onto his ears and was only thankful for experience when he unzipped Peter’s pants, pulled him free, and ran a tongue up his length. He licked and sucked and only stopped when Peter’s hand, firm in his hair, yanked him back up and into a  _ filthy _ kiss that barely constituted as one from all the tongue that was in it. His hands fumbled uselessly at Harry’s own pants and he pushed him up long enough to updo the buckle before he was pulling Harry back on top of him. 

Peter’s hands felt like  _ fire  _ where they ran over his skin, and his lips like stings of electricity where they brushed over his skin. When Peter kissed his scar on his hip Harry was unprepared for the reaction his body would give and when Peter pushed a finger, slowly, inside he let out a moan so loud they were lucky they were the only two home. “This is what you want, right?” Peter asked without moving and Harry would have smacked him for being so damn  _ considerate _ if it wasn’t exactly what he needed. He nodded and then rolled his eyes at the devilish smirk Peter sent at him before  _ finally _ moving his hand out a little before pushing it back in. “I think this is the only time you’ve ever been speechless.” 

Harry opened his mouth to tell him off but then Peter was adding in a  _ second _ finger and the stretch sent a ring of fire through his stomach. “ _ Fuck _ , Parker.” He hissed through gritted teeth and, if it wasn’t for the strain in Peter’s laugh, he would have thought he wasn’t holding himself back at all. “I should have had you pegged for a  _ talker _ .” He said between gasps as Peter crooked his fingers to make more space. 

“Probably.” Peter agreed. “I never shut up.” His fingers withdrew and he seemed only too happy to kneel above Harry and  _ watch _ him. 

Harry laughed even though it sounded like a whine. “I  _ swear _ , Peter if you don’t-.” Peter pushed  _ in _ and Harry’s mouth fell open as his eyes rolled back.  _ There _ it was. 

Harry had had sex before. He had had sex with  _ Peter _ before but they had never done it as slow as they were now, Peter content to wait until Harry nodded to begin moving. Usually they were quick, rushed because someone might walk in and interrupt but  _ now _ they were alone - truly alone. Harry was healed fully so Peter could do whatever he wanted to him - legs spread out wide and  _ full _ even when Peter set a quick pace. They dissolved out of banter and into gasps, Peter kept one hand in Harry’s hair and the other on his hip and Harry scratched nails down his back and if the pain bothered either of them they didn’t say. 

The burn was nice, the pressure even better, and when Harry came it was to Peter’s name on his lips and breath on his tongue. 

* * *

_ Safety _ , Harry thought, was a curious thing. 

Peter had fallen asleep not long ago, after they had cleaned up in the shower and shoved on sweatpants and changed the sheets. The others weren’t back still, but Harry wasn’t shocked - Morgan had  _ insisted _ on food from a specific restaurant forty five minutes away and Harry had gone along with it simply because it was easier than arguing. 

Harry had never felt  _ safe _ before. Not really. Not when he knew he would have to go home eventually. 

Peter’s breath rose and fell under his cheek and the rain pattered against the rooftop and Harry realized that, perhaps, safety was the feeling of Peter’s arms around him, strong and sturdy even in his sleep. 

Maybe  _ safety _ was letting his eyes slide shut with the door latched closed and breathing even out to the tune of another’s. 

_ Safety _ , Harry thought, was something he never wanted to let go of again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has singlehandedly been one of the most difficult stories I have ever written. Because of the nature of it, I would like to thank all of you for sticking by from chapter one until now. Abuse is something incredibly damaging and, unfortunately, not all of it is physical. If you or anyone you know is going through an abusive situation please know that there are organizations and people that care and want to help you. Below you will find a few links to resources should you need them. 
> 
> Keep your eyes peels for a part two which I expect will be out sometime next week. Thank you for your love! I appreciate each and every one of you. 
> 
> https://www.childhelp.org/hotline/
> 
> https://victimconnect.org/learn/types-of-crime/child-abuse-and-neglect/

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make me cry


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